Hard Love

by Shana Vanterpool

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah right. You’re sick of me.” She gave me a soft smile and kept walking. I followed her into my house. “You’re all packed, right? It’s going to snow in an hour and I want to be out of Denver before it does.”

  She turned in her rental today, hence the overly friendly Uber driver. I wondered if that was going to be a thing. Men and her. So far, it had only been us two together. Sleeping together. Waking up together. We’d set up a dangerous rug I had a feeling would get pulled out from under me the moment I got comfortable.

  I felt my desire and pain twisting around the other. Things would get messy. My heart would bleed. But I was powerless to stop that from happening when I wanted it so much. Bleeding hearts made a sick kind of sense to me.

  “Yes,” I answered, eyes following her around the house as she checked to make sure that everything was unplugged.

  I didn’t tell her that it was pointless. I’d hired a realtor two days ago and they were going to man the sale of my house. I didn’t care about the furniture. I didn’t care about my suits in my closet. I would create a new pretense when I got to Portland, and even though the thought made me sick, it was a necessary evil to keep the world happy so they didn’t look too close.

  She spun around in the hall and met my eyes, hers soft. Damn it, they were beautiful. So deep, endless brown. There was no other color in her eyes. Just this deep, glowing brown that never ceased boring into my fucking soul. “Did you move your safe? Is that why you were outside?”

  I nodded once.

  “Okay,” she said. “Then we’re ready to go home?”

  I nodded once more.

  She passed me in the hall and let her left hand rub against my thighs on her way. Just below my cock. “Hottest new roommate ever.”

  “Me or you?” I called out.

  She snorted. “Me, obvi.”

  I chuckled and followed her, grabbing my wool coat off the counter. My beard had started growing in, shadowing my jaw. I was thankful, having caught Cat staring at my scar more than once. She was an intelligent woman, though. I knew she had questions, but I also knew she’d never ask them.

  The first hour on the road was silent. My Charger was packed with two suitcases for me and the rest were her bags. I didn’t need much.

  “I’ll split driving in half. Nine and nine. Stop halfway, get a hotel room, and then get back on the road. That cool with you?” she checked.

  The second we left Denver, anything was cool. “Whatever works for you, dear.”

  “Dear?” she repeated, scrunching up her nose. “Well aren’t you amendable, honey buns.”

  My lips twitched. “I am nothing but amendable, babycakes.”

  She snorted out a laugh. “The sky is so gray today, isn’t it, sweetie?”

  “Stormy, honey doll,” I agreed, grinning at the side of her face. Her own lips lifted, and smiling like that, she was beauty.

  “Ugh,” she groaned. “No more. I can’t take that shit. We deserve badass nicknames. Like …” She mulled it over, tapping the steering wheel. “Brawk.”

  My brows quirked. “Brawk?”

  “Brando and Hawkins together make Brawk. I love it. That’s your new name. Live with it.”

  “I’ll stick with Cat.”

  “Of course, you will. Why mess with perfection?” She gave me a sugary grin.

  “Why indeed,” I muttered, wanting to kiss her. Filthily. Fucking dirty. I had to get that out of my system before I did anything gentle. I had a feeling she didn’t do gentle anyway. Gentleness took time. The bomb between us surely wasn’t going to wait for us to take our time.

  After a few minutes of silence, she sighed. “I’m bored. Let’s play a road trip game.”

  I took a deep breath and sank lower in my seat to find some kind of comfort. “Like what?”

  “Every time we see a white car we have to … tell a secret.” She gave me innocent eyes that I didn’t dare fall for. “There’s a white car in front of us. Hope he doesn’t get off the highway soon.”

  Brat. “Fine. Tell me a secret.”

  “I’ve never tried anal.”

  I choked on my shock, and then did the only thing I could. I laughed my ass off even though it hurt my entire body to do. She joined me. “Hate to break it to you, baby, but I can’t say the same.”

  She stopped laughing abruptly and stared at the road. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

  My smile dropped. She glared darkly at the road and her little hands on the steering wheel looked sickly pale gripping it with all her might. And something told me that a woman like Cat had a whole lot of might. “Why not?” I asked pointedly.

  She bit down on her lip and if it were possible, the mood in the car got darker. “Tell me a secret. It’s your turn.”

  I plucked a harmless secret from my safe. “I’m addicted to tattoos.”

  The mood swirling around her began to settle immediately. “I can see that. You hide them, though. You’re ashamed.”

  “I’m not ashamed of them. I’m actually quite proud of them. I drew them all myself. The world’s the one who’s ashamed of them.”

  Her head turned to me. She gave me a wide-eyed look as best she could driving. “You drew all the tattoos on your body? You’re kidding me.”

  “I’m not.”

  She whistled. “I’m impressed, Brando.”

  I shrugged. “You shouldn’t be.”

  “How could you be a cop with that kind of magic trapped inside of you? It goes against everything to instill order and then go home and draw chaos.”

  I rested my head on the seat and stared at her. “I had to become a cop. It was the only way to … fix things.” I sighed and looked at the road. The white car was still there. Might as well give her another secret. “I grew up in a fucked up world.”

  “I didn’t,” she revealed. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours? I’ve never told anyone where I came from, Brando,” she added softly.

  I had to know every single thing about her. “My father was in an MC. A motorcycle gang. The Hard Riders. He was deep in that lifestyle in Texas.” I skipped a humongous chunk of time and pain and then I continued. “After the dust settled, I knew if I didn’t become a cop, I’d end up buried beside him, with a trail of bodies and heartache in my wake.”

  I heard her sharp inhale of breath. “Like the Sons of Anarchy?”

  “Worse,” I admitted. “We didn’t have a Jax Teller around, I’ll just say that.”

  “We,” she picked out, reading between the lines, like she could see that I had once grown up alongside the Hard Riders. “That’s probably as shocking as my past. But for different reasons.” She took a deep breath. “You ready?”

  She was a dark angel. No pushing. No judging. Just openness and equality when it came to sharing our pasts. “I’m ready.”

  “I keep this hidden, because in the scheme of things, it doesn’t matter where you come from, you know? It only matters where you’re going, and how you get there. Everyone looks at me and thinks it was always hard. But it wasn’t,” she whispered. “It was easy for me growing up in Maine. That was the problem. My parents are filthy, disgustingly rich. I saw my mother twice a month if I was lucky, and I saw my father even less. I always felt … misplaced. Like I was the right person in the wrong place. If I was going to be alone, I’d rather take care of myself. I took off when I was fourteen. And it was the biggest mistake of my life.” She exhaled in a rush.

  I reached across the seat to touch her, settling my hand on her thigh. I rubbed from her knee to the top of her thigh. She jumped a large chunk of time too. Which meant it was as painful as mine. “Did you ever go back?”

  “No,” she forced out. “And I never will.”

  I didn’t lift my hand. I settled it on her knee as much for myself as for her. “How did you end up in Denver?”

  She shrugged. “How did you?”

  I smiled humorlessly. “Just sort of happened.”

  “Me too. And then I was
stuck there. Trapped. Until I met Klay.” Her sad smile became wistful.

  “You and him ever …” I tapered off, unsure how to bring it up.

  But she shook her head. “No. It was never like that.”

  Good. “We done with secrets?”

  She glanced down at my hand. “If we’re done, are you going to move your hand?”

  “Yes,” I lied, to see what she’d say.

  “Your turn, Brawk.” Her smile was pointed at the road.

  So I crept my hand up, tracing the inseam on her jeans as I heard her almost inaudible swallow. “I’ve never been in love.”

  She took a second to respond. I didn’t know if it was my secret, or the fact that my hand had inched higher. My knuckles were close to where her thighs met.

  “I’m scared to love you.”

  My hand stilled, and my heart did the same. “Then don’t. Because if you do, I’ll fuck it up. And you’ll destroy me.”

  “Are you scared to love me too?” Her voice wobbled, weakened from the weight of her question.

  “I’m only scared of things I can’t control. And I couldn’t control my feelings for you if I fucking tried.”

  Her breath left her in a whoosh, and the moment the words left my mouth, the timer on the bomb that existed between us started ticking. It began counting down to our total destruction.

  A tear trailed down her cheek, but she smiled morosely at the road. “I want to get married in Hawaii.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  She smiled privately.

  I cleared my throat and squeezed her thigh before letting her go. “Duly noted.”

  Behind us, it started to snow in Denver.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  I was jolted awake by the sound of a door closing.

  I blinked aware under the blindingly bright lights of the parking lot we were in. Cat walked around the front of my car toward the lobby of the rundown hotel she’d chosen.

  I groaned, running a hand down my face. Everything on me hurt past common sense. I reached down between my legs blindly to grab for the bag that contained my pain pills, swallowing two down dry.

  When Cat returned, she opened her door and poked her head in. She tossed me a key card. “Room two zero one. Second floor. I’ll bring everything up.”

  I ignored her order and went around back, braving her hostile glare to grab my own bags. I was in pain if I stayed still, and I was in pain if I moved; I might as well move. When she moved to grab up my safe, I fell a little harder for her. If we ever managed to diffuse our bomb, I’d probably feel that way every day. Love her a little more, fear her a little less. But the ticking thrived in the back of my skull, up every step I took to the second floor.

  I managed to slip the key card in the door and dumped everything in my arms to the floor. The room was your standard hotel. Unwashed sheets from the seventies, tacky meaningless paintings, and one solitary window that opened to the street.

  “They have a pool and a jacuzzi,” she said, reading the pamphlet left on the nightstand. She sank onto the bed. “There’s probably some booze at the gas station next door. Wanna get drunk and jacuzzi it up?”

  “Not sure getting in a lukewarm bubbly tub of marinating ejaculate and feces from hundreds of other people is good for my wounds.” I joined her, grabbing the pamphlet from her hands to read it over.

  She scrunched up her entire face and shook her head. “Right. Probably not. We can still get drunk in our room. Have some fun?”

  She wanted to have fun. We would have fun. “Whiskey and cola?”

  She beamed, eyes lighting with a flare of bad. She was beauty, but she also danced with demons. Made me want to dance with them too. I thought getting older would exterminate peer pressure, but Cat was a whole other influence.

  “My fav.” She patted my thigh. “Be right back with some booze and food. Slip into something more comfortable for me, eh?” She winked and dragged her fingers over my jaw, her soft skin scraping against my stubble, her dark brown eyes shimmering with mayhem before she left me alone.

  I could be alone. Before her, that’s what I was. Now, it made me feel … off. Like my scales were tipping too far into the unknown.

  I kicked my shoes off and wriggled my wool coat off, laying it on the seventies bed spread. The bathroom wasn’t much better. Stained tile the color of bones and the light was so dull, I looked colorless. Pale and dark at the same time, with my pallid skin and the shadowy circles under my eyes. I turned the faucet and cupped the stream of water and brought it to my face, finding relief in being unable to see for a moment.

  I grabbed a towel off the hook and dried my face, catching a glimpse of my empty dark green eyes before turning away from the smudged mirror. The scar on my throat burned.

  Unable to stand it, I grabbed the key card and took off for the gas station to join her. The cold air bit at my exposed arms and face and the cold helped clear my mind. The gas station doors dinged when I came in and the attendant looked up. She had to be in her mid-twenties. She did a double take when she saw me, her eyes flashing to my tats and then my face before giving me a wide, indulgent smile.

  “Hey,” she greeted.

  I couldn’t help smiling back. Her shameless ogle didn’t go unnoticed. “Hey yourself.”

  “Ahem,” a woman cleared her throat beside me.

  I looked over to find Cat standing there, arms full of snacks and a six pack of soda. Where her brown eyes had shimmered with mischief earlier, they roared with fury now. Burning rage turned them into glossy black orbs of madness, and I’d be lying if I didn’t find the hardness sexy. I wanted to wrap my fingers around her neck and shove her against the cold storefront glass before I shoved my tongue deep into her mouth. I could only imagine how sweet she’d taste, how much her madness probably weaved the ingredients for addiction.

  “Making new friends, Brando?”

  I couldn’t help it. Out in the open, there were no rules. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to the corner of her mouth, getting the edge of her soft plump lips. Our eyes remained open, and I watched her pupils flare. “Who needs new friends with you around?”

  She turned her head to the side an inch and brushed her lips over mine for half a second. The contact unleashed the worse kind of desire in me. The twisted toxic kind. “I like the way you think,” she whispered against my lips.

  “Hmm,” I murmured, stuck on her. “You have any idea how sexy you are when you’re jealous?”

  “Who say’s I’m jealous?” she quipped.

  I clucked under my tongue. “Don’t start lying to me now.”

  Mirth entered her eyes and she dropped the pretense. In that case, I didn’t want pretenses between she and I. Before she could answer, the ding of the doors opening sounded, ripping apart our bubble. She blinked aware and a flush entered her cheeks. “Yay or nay on Cheez-Its?”

  I didn’t answer. I moved around her, brushing my hand over hers, before finding the snack aisle. I loaded my arms and joined Cat at the register. The attendant looked crest-fallen, morosely bagging our items after I ran my debit card.

  “Have a good night,” she mumbled.

  “One look and you broke her heart,” Cat said as we made our way across the parking lot for the hotel.

  “Yeah, that’s me. A heartbreaker.” I snorted.

  “What’d you think about her? Pretty eyes. Big tits.”

  Was she fishing? I kept my smile down and shrugged. “Big tits are always nice.”

  She made a sound in the back of her throat. “What’s your type?” she demanded, walking a little faster.

  Truthfully, I didn’t have a type. I sought out women who wanted nothing from me but one night. “Empty.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw her brows draw down. “I mean physically.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me. Limiting your tastes to one thing limits your experiences.”

  “No,” she argued. “Setting no expectations limits disappointment.
I have a type. And I’m not limiting myself.”

  I saw what she did there. Baited me with her type because she was wondering the same thing I was. Was I her type?

  “I’ll get the truth out of you once you’re drunk,” she said, taking the stairs to the second floor.

  “I’m a mellow drunk, believe it or not. And … a horny drunk.”

  “Interesting.” I caught her smile before she turned away to set the bottle of whiskey she got from the attendant on the desk below the television mounted on the wall. “Me too.”

  I chuckled and sat on the end of the bed, ripping open a bag of Doritos.

  Only she could make a back full of bullet holes and a dingy hotel room seem like a minor cut and a vacation.

  Chapter Eight

  Catherine

  Operation Get Brando Drunk didn’t start off quite as maniacally as it ended up being.

  I’d wanted it more than him. Being in that car with him for nine hours straight, feeling his body heat, smelling him every time he shifted, took a deep breath—his presence made me hyperaware. And eventually, with all that awareness and no action, I’d started to shift closer to insanity than I normally liked, and I needed a damn drink.

  Then Brando pulled that stunt at the gas station, getting close enough for me to feel his breath on my lips.

  And then the alcohol started entering our systems, and the stress of hiding our emotions slipped. First for me, and then for him. A spark of life entered his eyes whenever he looked at me, and a rush of desire made my panties damp.

  The spark of life in his eyes looked so tempting. Like I could reach out and grab and it make it mine too. I knew what I wanted out of life. I floated along and broke so many times, I forgot what wanting things felt like. And what I wanted was simple. Him.

  But somewhere between wanting him, and having him, so many things could blow up in our faces.

  We both sank down to the floor beside the bed, our cola cans half whiskey. Snacks were open and I had cheese powder and wasabi dust on my fingers, staining them green and orange. The light by the bed was on, and the glow went over our heads, casting us in shadow. I felt cocooned.