by Malcom, Anne
But I had a son who sometimes wandered into the aforementioned kitchen for a glass of water or a snack at all hours and I really didn’t want to scar him for life.
I also sensed something about Lance, about how rare those snippets of information were, how precious those collections of sentences were. They were meant to be handled with care. He was meant to be, no matter how unbreakable he seemed.
So I made the salad.
Drained my entire glass of wine in the time it took to make it, get out the rest of the fixings to go with the steak, set the table and put out appropriate condiments.
Then I poured another one as he came in with the most delicious smelling steaks I’d smelled in my life. I refilled his glass too, as it was empty.
All this without words.
All of the food was put on our plates without words too. Eaten that same way. Well, there may have been an embarrassing groan of ecstasy that came from me with my first bite of steak. I couldn’t help it. It was pure heaven. Cooked to perfection. Melt in my mouth. Even better than that seventy dollar one from the fancy place. Maybe that was because Lance had bought it for me, cooked it for me, and his words had served as an appetizer.
Because the rest of the meal was just as mouthwatering.
You’d think it’d be awkward, eating an entire meal with someone you were borderline obsessed with and crazy attracted to in complete silence.
Somehow it wasn’t.
It was a strange gift for me, that silence to contemplate my thoughts, to savor my food. To savor the company. Never did I get to sit down and eat a meal in silence. Heck, I barely ever sat down and ate a meal, period. Breakfast was usually coffee, a bite of whatever Nathan had. Lunch was standing up in the kitchen at work. Dinner was snatched bites in between getting Nathan ready for bed, or while cleaning up after he’d gone to bed.
And the sit-down meals we had semi-regularly with Eliza and Karen were far from silent.
So yeah, a quiet meal with Lance was little more than heaven. For once, the quiet didn’t bring with it all of my problems that I had to dwell on, panic about. I didn’t think about Robert, about money, about my son’s safety, because it was all taken care of by Lance. For this moment at least.
I read somewhere that a moment was exactly ninety seconds, well, not exactly since the length of a solar hour depends on the solar day which varies with the season, but ballpark.
With Lance, a moment was for however long that silence lasted.
It lasted the meal, the cleanup and the rest of the bottle of wine.
Another reason I did what I did.
The reason a lot of previously logical people did very stupid things.
Alcohol.
I’d gone past my two drinks rule because I needed the wine, it tasted so great and because I needed something.
Which meant I was tipsy.
I didn’t stumble or anything as I walked Lance to the door after he spoke the first words since the infamous ones.
“Better go, it’s late, you’ve got an early morning.”
I had nodded to this. It was all true.
“Thank you, for dinner,” I said, my voice little more than a whisper.
He gave me a long, not at all blank look. “Dinner was for me, dinner was selfish.”
That was a punch to the ovaries. But like a good one. A really good one.
I didn’t say anything as we walked through my living room, though I did start to panic at my magical moment being over. Obviously it had to be over. He couldn’t stay.
Could he?
So that was when I did the stupid thing, right as we got to the front door. Something, more than wine, something animal took over me. When he turned to presumably say goodbye, bark at me to lock the door behind him and set the alarm as he always did, I pounced on him.
My hands fisted his tee, pulling at the thin fabric and yanking him toward me. Now, Lance wasn’t exactly a man that could actually be manhandled by a woman like me, so I knew that this had to be consensual. I was a woman, I knew by the way he looked at me that this was most definitely consensual. In my wine addled brain, I knew that despite what his looks, his words told me, he wasn’t going to be making the first move. Maybe any move. He thought of himself as bad, maybe he was. But right now, I wanted bad. More than anything.
Which was why I grabbed him the way I did and crashed our lips together. Lance didn’t react at all, at first. The man who I imagined dodging bullets better than Neo in The Matrix, being able to react to anything and everything, seemed shocked still by me kissing him without warning.
That didn’t last for long.
Pretty much until my tongue teased at the seam of his lips.
Then he reacted.
He did that my grabbing my ass, palming it rough enough that I knew I’d have bruises I’d savor tomorrow, the other hand tore through my hair and he yanked at me so my body slammed into his. My hands were still at his chest, trapped there so I couldn’t do anything. It should have panicked me, the fact I was all but trapped.
Because I was kind of distracted by the fact the Lance was kissing the shit out of me.
All of that emotion, all of that heat that had been absent, only hinted at since I’d met him, it all flooded into that kiss. Flooded into me with enough force that my knees were close to giving way. My heart crashed against my ribcage. Every nerve ending in my body responded.
He wasn’t tender or patient with me. Not like any other man who knew my history might have been. Another man might have thought I needed to be treated with care. Tenderness. Maybe I did.
But not at this moment.
Holy shit, not at this moment.
I moaned into his mouth as he yanked at my hair, beautiful pain erupting in my scalp.
Immediately the kiss stopped.
Not just stopped, Lance was no longer touching me but totally out of touching distance.
Out of pouncing distance.
Everything was blurry, red-tinged with my passion, with the fire. I lifted a shaking hand to my swollen lips, blinking rapidly so Lance came into focus.
And when I focused on him, I sobered.
Instantly.
The moment was over.
Well and truly.
The moment was destroyed.
I’d done that.
He proved it by looking at me for a beat longer then striding out the door. It slammed behind me. It took a long time for me to realize I hadn’t heard his boots thumping down our walk, or his SUV start up.
He was waiting on the stoop for me to lock up.
A weird part of me wondered if he’d stay there all night if he didn’t hear me. A big part of me hoped for that.
But then the logical part of me took over. I walked over to the door. It took three tries to slide the new locks home. To set the alarm.
The beeping of the new system echoed through my ringing ears.
I waited at the door for Lance to leave, wishing he wouldn’t. Wishing he’d storm back in here, finish that kiss.
Give me another moment.
But he didn’t.
Chapter Fourteen
Lance
“We clear I’m taking point on this?” Rosie asked him, pulling a brown manila envelope out of her purse. She didn’t wait for him to answer as he opened the door of the precinct for her. “Because we’re in a police station, it’s probably one of the worst places to commit murder,” she said conversationally, her heels clicking on the floor. Only this bitch would wear heels on the job. Granted, today’s job wasn’t meant to get dicey, their location being the main factor in this.
Almost certainly why Keltan suggested that this be the place they make the drop.
The fuck.
He and everyone in the office had noticed the change in him. They were trained to notice threats, of course. Not that it was hard.
So they were here. With Rosie taking point. Another strategic choice from Keltan. If there were a match for Lance, sure every single man at Greenstone was equal
to him, but Rosie was the only one who may be more fucked up than him.
And here she was, in heels, swinging her purse and wearing a miniskirt.
She popped a bubble between her pink glossed lips, leaning over the desk at the front of the station.
Jesus.
She was good. Every man in the area was in the palm of her hand and she hadn’t even spoken.
“We’re looking for Detective Hudson,” she said, after sucking the gum back in her mouth and licking her lips.
The kid at the desk looked like he might blow his load right there.
“Um, he’s the second desk on the right,” the kid said, pointing his arm to the bullpen, trying to flex his bicep as he did so.
Fucking hell.
This would have gone a lot different if Rosie wasn’t here.
Which was precisely why she was.
“Thanks.” She winked at the kid.
He followed her when she turned on her heel and walked in the direction of the desks, like she wasn’t committing murder on a weekly basis.
They made it to the desk.
The fuck was so distracted by Rosie’s legs that he took ten whole seconds to recognize her. Five more to recognize Lance.
He went to get up, open his mouth, face smug and mouth curled into a satisfied grin once he realized where he was. There was still some of that cowardice around his eyes that had been there at his last visit. Lance was happy to see the cut on his eyebrow would scar and he still had a shadowing of bruising under his eye.
Elena’s was only now almost completely healed.
After fucking weeks.
“Now, now, don’t get your tightie-whities in a bunch,” Rosie said conversationally. “We’re just here to get your signature on a little piece of paper and then we’ll be off on our merry way and you can go back to being a dirty cop and an overall piece of shit human being.” She smiled sweetly, holding out the envelope.
Hudson didn’t take it, his face reddening.
“Oh, and just before you decide to act like you actually have balls when we both know you don’t, only real men have those.” She winked. “And anyone that beats up their wife is not a real man. Plus, that shirt. Dude, don’t be that guy. Where was I? Oh, before you say anything or do anything, I’d remember what we have on you and what we’d have to do if you decide to act like the douchebag everyone knows you are.”
The fucker narrowed his eyes at Rosie, probably to try and hide the real fear in them. “Are you blackmailing a police officer, in a police station?” he asked, voice sharp.
She grinned wider, shaking the envelope. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. How sweet of you to notice.”
“I could have you arrested,” he snarled.
Lance’s fists were tight at his sides.
Rosie tilted her head, regarding him, like he was an amusing child. “Oh, if I’m going to be arrested, it’s going to be for something much more interesting than blackmail. But if we’re talking about getting arrested, let’s have some fun. Throw words like kidnapping, domestic abuse, sexual assault around. How’s that sound? Great, I didn’t think so. Now sign this fucking thing before I lose my temper right here in front of all of your nice police buddies.”
He stared at the paper. Back at Rosie.
Lance stopped being so pissed that Rosie was taking point in a place he couldn’t pummel this fuck all over again. This was satisfying in a way pure violence couldn’t be. Hudson was being controlled by a woman. Not just that, bested by one and talked to exactly how every woman on the planet should talk to him. Like he was worse than shit on a shoe.
The fuck was uncomfortable. It was satisfying, to say the least, to watch him squirm like an ant under a microscope. Though nothing would feel greater than to watch his lifeless body tumble into a shallow grave.
But Elena had her wishes.
And fuck, if he was keeping them.
Never in the time since he became who he was now had he taken any other human being’s wishes into account. But here he was. Standing in front of a man every cell in his body called him to kill, and he was instead relishing in his discomfort.
For Elena.
For Nathan.
The kid who thought of him as a superhero and had no idea that he was looking up to the villain.
The kid who touched parts of him that weren’t supposed to exist anymore.
Yeah, he wasn’t too hot on killing that kid’s father, no matter how much of a piece of shit he was.
Hudson had been staring at Rosie, then the manila envelope for a long time. Lance could see the cogs working in the fuck’s mind. Though he was stupid in almost every way, he was a narcissist. Therefore, he wouldn’t likely do something directly that would damage him, and he knew Rosie’s threats weren’t empty. That was why neither he nor his father had given Elena any more shit.
They were working up to it, of course. Fuckers like this were stupid enough to keep going until they won.
Because they thought they deserved to win.
The second this fuck laid his hand on Elena, he lost. Lance planned to make sure he was there when he realized he’d lost and he left Elena and Nathan alone.
He ignored the strange pang he got with that thought. Though neither Elena or Nathan were something that he could ignore. But his focus moved when the man—who he planned to end, one day—looked at the envelope.
“Ah, so I see Neanderthals have some brains at least,” Rosie remarked as he opened the envelope and began to read.
The entire fucker’s form went tight as he understood what they were serving him. His beady, hateful eyes darted from Lance to Rosie.
“That cunt put you up to this.”
With that sentence, Rosie lost all of her sweet façade. Everything about her changed. Her true nature moving toward the surface, in a way that disturbed even Lance. Seeing someone that beautiful, that unassuming transform into a pure threat, it was something to shake even the most experienced of men.
“I know we’re in a police station,” she said calmly. “But you talk about Elena like that one more time, I’ll rip your cock up through your throat and make you give yourself the most unenjoyable blow job you’ve ever received.”
Bitch was funny, threatening and sexy at the same time. Luke was a lucky man. But then again, the fucker was definitely going to go gray early with all the shit Rosie put him through. Their kid was already taking after her, so Luke was in for even more shit.
Hudson glared at Rosie, most likely thinking such a look would affect her in some way. Fucker was stupid if he thought someone like him could intimidate someone like Rosie. Rosie wasn’t intimidated by anyone. Fuck, the bitch intimidated him.
“I haven’t got all day,” Rosie snapped. “I’ve got to get a manicure in like an hour and I want time to grab an iced matcha before that. So if you could stop pretending like you’re gonna do anything but sign the papers to try and hold onto your nonexistent manhood, I’d really appreciate it.”
“This isn’t the end of it,” Hudson seethed, snatching a pen from his desk.
Rosie rolled her eyes. “Let me just get you a hairless cat and a lair in the mountains to go with the B-Movie evil villain line.”
Hudson didn’t reply to this. Obviously. Seeing Rosie unaffected by threats he had practice in being one of the weapons at his disposal in battering what he considered the weaker sex. Lance was happy one of the strongest people he knew—people, not women—was giving him an education on who exactly was the weakest here.
He thrust the paper back at Rosie.
She went to grab it but he held onto it.
Lance stiffened, ready to step in, regardless of the location or the badge the fucker thought protected him from justice.
Real justice. Not the kind he doled out.
“She thinks she’s got some new friends, it’ll protect her. It won’t. She knows who I am. Who my father is.” His eyes darted up and down Rosie’s body, then flickered to Lance. The fucker wasn’t brave enough to hold eye
contact, he was scared of him after the beating. As he should be. “You’ll learn too.”
Rosie still hadn’t lost her cool. Then again, she could be gutting a rapist and be talking about her favorite show on Netflix. Lance knew that, because she’d done that last week.
“Oh, color me excited. I love watching assholes fall, especially when they think they’re on top of everyone else. I also love teaching them just how low on the food chain they really are.” She snatched the paper, glanced through it to make sure that he hadn’t tried to fuck them.
That would be stupid.
Rosie folded the paper, satisfied. Lance relaxed. Only slightly. He would never relax completely. Because this fucker was still breathing. Because he was still stupid enough to think he could fight back.
Because this wasn’t over for Elena.
His promise was keeping him from making sure it was truly over.
He’d broken a lot of things over the years, promises included.
But he wouldn’t break one to Elena.
He just hoped he wouldn’t regret that.
Elena
The next day, the one where I woke up with a splitting headache—because I was a lightweight and because sleep deprivation was really frickin’ getting to me—there was no coffee on the coffee table when I stumbled in there, Nathan on my heels.
He didn’t notice, nor did he notice his mother may or may not be dying from a red wine-induced headache. He was too busy telling me how marshmallows were trees in his dreams and how awesome would that be?
He didn’t notice Lance wasn’t there until I’d gotten him fed, myself caffeinated and both of us borderline ready for work and school. After I’d found a waffle iron in Nathan’s backpack and told him he could not make waffles at recess.
Then, he was cranky.
Obviously I was cranky, having been used to the good coffee, Lance’s presence and the absence of a wine hangover.
Nathan got worse when we got outside and did not see the SUV that was usually there.
He peppered me with questions the entire drive to school. Questions I could not answer, did not want to answer and could not concentrate on while driving.
