"You have the worst fucking taste in men," he practically growls.
Anger rolling off of him in waves.
"He's my sister's boyfriend," I try explaining. Then I panic. "Wait, my sister. I've got to get to her. She's still in there."
"Taking you to get patched up, princess."
"But my sister–"
Damien is still on the ground, grimacing in pain, but coherent enough.
"You better watch your back, bitch," he threatens me followed by a small groan.
Still firmly holding me, Cutter looks down at him and offers a few menacing words.
"Stay away from this woman and her sister. You touch them, you talk to them, and I'll be back. And trust me, it'll be ten times worse. You feel me?"
Damien doesn't respond. I'm not sure that he can. I'm not even sure if he should. Cutter kicks him once again in the ribs and this time Damien responds with a yelp. Watching the jerk grimace in pain gives me mixed feelings of both glee and guilt. It's the strangest dichotomy.
"Answer me, dickhead. I said do you feel me?"
"Yesss," he hisses but looks right at me with the deadest eyes I've ever seen.
A chill runs down my spine.
Cutter turns back to me and asks, "We good now?"
"No, I told you my little sister is in there. Would you just leave if it were your brother inside?"
I may not know everything about the King brothers, but from what I've been told, they would probably kill for each other. He has to understand that I can't just leave Dawn inside while this maniac is still out here.
"Fine," he says after sucking his teeth.
"She's only seventeen," I add for good measure.
"Understood. Let's get her and go."
Now that the adrenaline rush I felt earlier is starting to subside, I notice that Cutter's normally beautiful face is a frightening sight. I'm not sure why, but one side of it is completely covered in blood. He looks absolutely lethal.
"Your face," I say. "Did he hurt you?"
"Don't insult me, princess. That piece of shit didn't touch me. This here is something else."
"You should go to the hospital," I say. "That looks really bad."
"Nah, babe, you should see the other guy."
He attempts to make light of his injury, but this time the flirty smile I've seen on his face about a dozen times doesn't reach his eyes. I get the feeling that the other guy actually does look worse. A lot worse.
"I hate that I have to do this, because if this were any other day I would patch you up myself, but I've got a few things tonight that just won't wait. I'm in the middle of work. So I'm going to go in there, get your sister, and then drop you two off at Jefferson."
Jefferson Medical is one of the best hospitals in the city and is walking distance from here. It's probably a good idea for me to be seen, but it's Cutter who probably needs to see a doctor more than me.
"I think you're the one who needs the stitches," I say although he chooses to ignore me.
Cutter walks into the restaurant effortlessly with me still completely held in his arms. Bloodied. Battered. Bruised. He's still angry. I'm still stunned. I'm sure we both look a sight.
"Can you put me down now? I think I'm fine to walk."
"You may have a head injury."
"You're making a scene."
"The answer is no."
Cutter carries me through the restaurant, weaving us through the maze of white tablecloths, as if I weigh nothing which as much as I'd like to wish was the case–just isn't. I'll never forget how a guy I was seeing last year tried to lift me in the shower during sex, and when he couldn't hold me, asked me to ease up on the chips. I kicked his ass out, but it was still mortifying.
"Point her out," Cutter orders quietly.
"There she is."
Dawn runs over to us.
"Oh my God, what happened?" she asks frantically. Looking at me. Then Cutter. "What happened to my sister?" she shrieks at him.
"We're taking your sister to the ER. I believe it was your boyfriend who just punched her in the face."
"What?" she asks incredulously as if one of us could actually make this stuff up.
"I said your lowlife boyfriend hit your sister like she was a goddamn man. Now are you going to the ER with her or not?"
The whole restaurant is staring at us.
"I um–"
"Let's go if you're going. Got things to do, little girl," he says as he strides back toward the exit with me still in his arms. "And when we get outside, you better walk by that piece of trash like you don't even see him."
Dawn looks at me for a moment, stands, grabs her things, and follows us solemnly out of the restaurant. Typically I would not have let that slide. Normally I wouldn't have let someone talk to my sister like that. Especially a man.
But my eye is swollen shut, my face is on fire, and watching Cutter King silence my sassy, seventeen-year-old sister was probably the hottest thing I've seen in a long time.
Wait a minute, I think I actually may have a concussion.
Ten
Sloan
"Stop laughing."
"I can't."
"Try harder."
"I'm sorry, but it's just too funny. I should stop though, because when I laugh hard like this I either get nauseous or the sudden urge to urinate. At this rate, I just may throw up all over myself or pee my pants."
"You and this pregnancy are getting grosser by the minute. It's amazing to me that the dark knight still wants to have sex with you."
"You'll never have to worry about that happening. Roman always wants to have sex with me."
"Oh good grief."
Elizabeth continues to laugh. Even though I'm pretending that I'm annoyed with her, I enjoy hearing my friend laugh like this. I'm reluctant to admit it, but she's never sounded happier than she does now, and I suppose that her soon-to-be husband has a lot to do with that.
"I can't believe that you find it so funny that I was assaulted."
"No, drama queen, I'm not laughing about you being hurt. I'm laughing because it's hysterical that out of all the people in this city that Cutter King happened to be the one passing by that night. I mean what are the chances? I love it."
I've spent the last ten minutes in my underwear, underneath the covers, retelling Elizabeth the entire story of what happened with my sister and her brute of a boyfriend. Of course the only thing she wants to dwell on is the part about Cutter swooping in to save the day.
"I suppose it is a little ironic."
"Or serendipity."
"Oh brother."
"I've been watching you two since you both met at Lotus. There's an undeniable attraction between the two of you that someone would have to be blind not to see. It's just a matter of time before you call me panicking that you had a few too many lemon drops and now your naked, looking out of Cutter's bedroom window on a sunny Saturday morning."
"You're in the wrong profession. You should have been a romance novelist, not a freaking coder. And I don't drink lemon drops anymore for your information."
"What would be so awful about one night with him?"
"There's a slew of reasons. For one, I might catch something."
Elizabeth laughs. "I know what it must look like. All the women that chase after him, especially those girls at the club. It makes you think that there's no way that he isn't sleeping with a different woman every night, but believe it or not, Cutter is not a whore. He likes to look, like every man on earth, but I don't think he lays down with just anyone."
"Can we change the subject, because this one is dead and stinking in the water. The best he and I are ever going to be are strictly friends. Supporting our mutual friends as they marry and have a baby. Nothing more."
"Fine, crazy girl. Whatever you say. So tell me . . . how's your face looking?"
"Horrible," I admit while staring at my purple bruises in a handheld mirror. "There's no way I can take sales calls looking like this. They won't want to buy drug
s from me, they'll want to prescribe them."
"You better come up with some sort of stay busy plan, because you're going to go stir crazy sitting in the house all day. Maybe you could help me decorate the nursery."
"I'm not coming out of the house looking like this. I've decided to drown my sorrows in bad carbs and bad television. We've got plenty of time to decorate my godchild's nursery. You know I'm going to hook it up."
"Are you going to press charges against Dawn's boyfriend? You probably should.”
"No, I think the scrawny jerk is way more afraid of caveman Cutter than he is of any jail cell I could put him in."
"Really?!"
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that the caveman scared him straight. Plus, he physically assaulted Damien too. If I report Damien to the police, it’s going to open a whole other can of worms.”
“True.”
“I hate to say it, and I'll never admit it to anyone outside of this phone call, but I think that I'm going to owe Cutter big time for this. Dawn’s boyfriend had crazy in his eyes. He probably would have hit me again if Cutter hadn't stepped in."
"So I'm wondering if this whole thing may have changed your bad opinion of our Mr. King?"
"Bitsy, be serious. While I am soooo grateful that he was there to help, the guy came to my aid already drenched in blood. I don't even know if it was his blood or someone else's. Of course Dawn's boyfriend was scared of him. So was I. Any sane person would have been."
"You couldn't have been that afraid. You let him carry you around like you two were shooting a scene in An Officer And A Gentleman."
Before I can retort with a snarky comeback, there's a heavy knock at my door. A man's knock. It has to be my neighbor Kyle from down the hall. He saw me earlier and stopped to ask me why I had bandages on my face, and if I heard any news about the quiet lady who was evicted out of the apartment next to him. He's a bit of a gossiper.
"Let me call you back, Bitsy. It's my neighbor."
Kyle's seen me at my worst, so I think nothing about throwing on the closest thing to me (a ratty, old, oversized Penn sweatshirt) and grabbing the door.
"Hey, Kyle–" I say as I open the door.
But it's not Kyle.
Instead I find Cutter King standing at my front door looking pretty much like he did last night. While his face is not covered in blood like it was before, it's obvious that his wound hasn't been properly cleaned. I can clearly see the long gash above his eye which looks like the blood was simply wiped off and temporarily covered with Vaseline.
"Who the fuck is Kyle?" he asks in a no nonsense, authoritative voice.
"None of your business."
"Humor me."
"My neighbor," I respond woodenly.
"That's the way you answer the door for Kyle The Neighbor?"
I look down at myself. I love this throwback sweatshirt from my college days. It's big, and worn in, and while my favorite sweatshirt is long enough to almost hit past my knees, I have nothing on underneath it but a pair of lacy boy shorts. I didn't think much about it before, because I have no romantic interest in Kyle, but maybe I should have put something else on before answering the door.
"He's like a brother to me," I explain.
"I seriously doubt that's the way Kyle sees it."
I pull at the hem of my shirt.
"Are you going to continue to stand in my doorway, or would you like to come in?"
Cutter finally smiles and walks through the door like he owns the place. His thick soled boots sound thunderous walking across my wood floors. I consider for a moment asking him to take them off, so he won't scuff my newly buffed living room, but he might interpret that as an invitation to stay. Which it isn't. I only let him in for the sake of being polite.
He takes a seat in the center of my couch. Spreading his tremendously muscular thighs widely apart. Hands clasped behind his head until he notices a hand-carved wooden statue of a woman on my side table. A keepsake from my last trip to the Caribbean. He picks it up. Rotating it around in his hands. Examining it in a way that I imagine he appraises a woman's actual body. With great interest and deliberate care.
I inadvertently clear my throat. "Wait here for a second. I'm just going to change."
"Please don't put on any pants on my account," he says coolly. "What's good for the neighbor to see is fine by me."
"Me putting pants on has nothing to do with you. I'm just a little cold. Something is going on with my thermostat."
"Uh-huh."
I walk into my bedroom and look for a pair of clean sweatpants. Mr. chatterbox continues to talk to me while I'm in there. His booming voice reverberating against the walls of my apartment.
"Why did you think it was Kyle at the door?"
"We're not sure but we think the woman who lived next door to him was evicted. I thought that was him coming down to talk about it. We're just a little concerned about her."
"You mean a little nosy."
"Same thing."
"I see they took good care of you at the ER."
While it took forever to be seen, my wounds were definitely well irrigated and bandaged.
"They did."
"Did they give you good pain meds?"
"Yep."
"You know you shouldn't take those with alcohol."
He must have noticed the opened bottle of Cabernet I left on the kitchen counter.
"I'm aware."
I find a pair of clean navy blue leggings in my bottom dresser drawer. They actually match perfectly with my sweatshirt.
"And how's your sister?"
"I haven't talked to her."
"Are you angry with a seventeen-year-old kid?"
"You were pissed at her too."
"Yeah, but she isn't my sister."
I return to the living room.
"Obviously I'm still worried about her. That boy has some kind of hold over Dawn, and I'm not sure if she sees that it's toxic."
"He's probably convinced her that you had that punch coming."
"You think so?"
"Yeah, I've known dirtbags like him my whole life. Don't worry about it though. I'm pretty sure he understands who he's fucking with now. I bet right now he's deciding on whether or not your sister is even worth the trouble. I guarantee you he'll decide by the end of the week that she's not."
I'm quite familiar with the King brothers' reputation, and I'm a little worried that his words seem like a threat. While I know Dawn's boyfriend shouldn't be allowed to just walk around violently hitting women in their faces, I'm worried about my sister more. The last thing I need is for Cutter to do something to that kid that would push Dawn further away from the family and right into his arms.
"Don't touch a hair on that kid's head," I order.
"Did I say I was going to hurt him?" he asks obviously offended by what I've said.
"Get up."
"Now you're kicking me out?" he asks incredulously.
"Get up and sit down over at the dining table."
He raises one of his eyebrows suggestively and flashes one of his twenty-four-carat smiles.
"Oh yeah? Why? Are we going to do something fun on it?" he asks as he sits at the table.
I turn my lips up and don't answer him. Then I wash my hands after retrieving the first aid kit from one of the drawers in my kitchen, pull out the antiseptic spray and a fresh gauze pad, and diligently begin spraying his cut and dabbing it gently with the clean gauze. Repeating each step methodically until I've cleaned all of the dried blood off of the gash.
He watches me closely and quietly the entire time. The only sounds in the room are the inhaling and exhaling of breaths.
He follows my fingers.
Then observes my neck as I swallow.
Then he ogles my breasts as they secretly pebble underneath my shirt.
His inspection of me is unsettling, but I continue my work in a diligent manner. Knowing that this is the only way that I can thank him properly. At least the only way that my conscience will
allow.
"You know you never mentioned how your face got like this."
"You're right, I didn't."
He doesn't want to talk about it, but I continue to prod anyway.
"Was it work related?"
"What is it exactly do you think I do for a living?"
"You own the club."
"Yeah."
"You own that restaurant in Manayunk."
"I do."
"And you help wealthy people fix their problems."
He nods silently in agreement to that.
"But I'm sure that sometimes that problem solving stuff gets messy."
"Sometimes," he says gruffly. Obviously annoyed with the direction of our conversation.
To finish I pull out a tube of Neosporin and spread some of the ointment across his cut. Although Cutter doesn't flinch at all, I imagine that a cut this deep must hurt something awful, so I start to blow gently on the wound. Hoping that it will provide some relief. Realizing almost immediately that I probably shouldn't have done that.
"Dammit, princess."
He starts shifting in his chair.
"Shh." I quiet him. "Stay still."
I'm pretty sure I already know what he's thinking. What he's feeling. The sexual tension between us is palpable. It's been this way since the first day we met.
After finishing with the ointment, I look through my assortment of differently sized Band-Aids in my kit and decide on a couple of Mickey Mouse ones for his gash. He'll probably hate them which is entirely the point. They'll look hysterical on his gargantuan body.
"These are going to look great on you." I giggle.
Cutter surprises me by sliding one of his massive palms behind one of my thighs to pull me closer. His touch immediately initiates a gush between my legs.
My body is a backstabbing turncoat.
"I'm not a Mickey Mouse fan," he grumbles in protest.
"What are you talking about. Everybody likes Mickey Mouse, and these will help you get lots of attention in the club. The girls will be falling all over themselves trying to make sure that you're okay."
"They will, huh."
I can feel his warm breath on my neck.
It smells like a peppermint Tic Tac.
Indebted To A King Page 7
