by Tessa Bailey
“Oh?”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm?” He tugged her chin up. “Listen to me. This conversation between me and her…it isn’t going to be pretty. The only thing that’s going to get me through it is knowing I get to have bagels with you on the other side.”
“Why won’t it be pretty?”
“Things with me rarely are.”
She scrutinized him for a moment before heading through his door. Bowen walked in to find Ruby and Sera sizing each other up from opposite ends of the kitchen. If he were a different man, maybe one who worked a nine-to-five desk job, it might have even been funny. As it was, he had an undercover cop sharing oxygen with the pissed-off ex-pool-hustler sibling he’d been avoiding for months.
Ever since she found out they were blood relatives. A fact he’d kept from her since childhood.
He honestly didn’t know where he stood with either one of them, which made him angry, since they were both important to him. Most importantly, he didn’t know if Troy had clued Ruby in to his involvement in the investigation. Probably best to figure that out right off the bat, and he definitely couldn’t begin that line of questioning in front of Sera. Thankfully, Sera seemed to sense their reluctance to talk in front of her and started toward the bedroom. On impulse, he grabbed her wrist as she passed and planted a kiss on her forehead, and watched her until she disappeared inside the bedroom.
Bowen ignored Ruby’s shocked expression, studying the cuts on his knuckles. He knew she was dying to ask about Sera, so he spoke before she could. “What are you doing here? I told Troy to keep you out of Brooklyn.”
Ruby flinched. “When did you see Troy?”
She doesn’t know. “We meet for lattes and girl chat once a week.”
“Fuck that. Answer me.”
Bowen shrugged off her question. “You’ve been in Manhattan too long, Ruby Tuesday. Lighten up.”
She obviously didn’t like his evasion, but let it go. “How are you?”
He laughed without humor. “Please tell me you didn’t break into my apartment to make small talk.”
“So what if I did? We used to talk all the time.”
Bowen stayed silent. What did she want from him? She’d made a better life, and being associated with him would only screw it up. Why wouldn’t she just move the hell on?
“Last time I was in the neighborhood, you said things were bad.” She took a hesitant step toward him. “Have they gotten any better?”
He pointed toward the window. “This doesn’t get better. Don’t you understand that?”
“Troy and I can help. Let us.”
Troy’s intervention wouldn’t save him. It was too late. Hell, the day he was born, it had already been too late. He had only one option and it was why he’d agreed to aid the police in the first place. Save the people he loved from being dragged down with him. And he fucking loved his sister beyond words. Which is why saying what came next caused him physical pain. “I don’t want your help. I want you to get lost.”
“No.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. “It’s not fair, Bowen. All those nights spent hiding in alleys and parking lots, freezing cold, hungry. Scared. You knew I was your sister. I just want to spend time with you knowing you’re my brother.”
“The knowing doesn’t change anything.”
She slapped the countertop. “Yes, it does. It changes everything. You don’t get to shut me out. We’re your family.”
He went still. “We?”
Red stained her cheeks, but she raised her chin. “She just wants to make things right, Bowen. It won’t kill you to hear her out.”
Their mother. She meant their mother. Everything inside him rebelled at the thought of seeing her. “Is that why you came here? To set up some tearful mother-son reunion? You’re wasting your time.”
“Hey, she left me, too. Okay?” She closed the distance between them and grabbed his arm, but he yanked it away. “I’m not exactly over it, either. But aren’t you even a little curious? Don’t you at least want an explanation?
“I couldn’t give less of a fuck.”
“Oh, yeah?” She spun around, gesturing toward the living room wall. “Is that why you’ve painted her all over the apartment?”
Her barb stuck in his chest. “Go back to Manhattan, Ruby.”
“She’s downstairs.”
At once, he felt like he’d just run a marathon. He couldn’t seem to get enough air, but the need to escape the situation overrode everything else. Trapped. He felt trapped. Ruby was still talking to him, but nothing could break through the rush of white noise in his ears. Trying to regain some semblance of control, he strode toward the front door. “You crossed the line this time. I don’t want to see her. Or you. Get the hell out and don’t come back.”
“Bowen, don’t do this.” She looked desperate now, shifting on her feet, mind racing behind her eyes. “You’re hurting me. You’re the one person I never thought would hurt me.”
Dammit, she knew him too well. Knew saying that would kill him. But right now, when she’d forced him into his own personal nightmare, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, comfort her. “Yeah, that’s too bad. Hurting people is what I do. Live with it.”
Needing to get away from the pain on her face, he turned and yanked open the door.
And came face to face with his mother, Pamela Hicks.
She stumbled back a step, as if she hadn’t expected him to open the door so fast. He didn’t want to look at her, but he couldn’t look away either. He hadn’t seen her since he was a child, but somehow she looked exactly as he expected. She still had the streak of pink in her hair, still looked like a roadie for the Grateful Dead. With ripped jeans and a bullet belt, she looked like the furthest thing from a mother you could get. Which was totally accurate. She wasn’t a mother.
When he realized he’d been standing there, numb and dumbstruck, he swallowed hard and turned back to Ruby. “Go.”
“Don’t blame her,” Pamela said, recapturing his attention. “I was supposed to stay in the car. I guess doing what the hell you want runs in the family, huh?”
The joke fell flat, as she seemed to expect it would. “I don’t have a family.”
“You could.”
His laughter was even painful to his own ears. “What happened? Did you run out of money or something?” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet. “If I lend you a couple grand will you go back to wherever you came from?”
Behind him, Ruby spoke up. “Knock it off, Bowen.”
“I don’t need your money,” Pamela said.
“Then that concludes our business.” He held the door wide and looked at Ruby. “I don’t want to see you here again. If you come back, I’ll be more than happy to fill your boyfriend in on your occasional trips to Brooklyn. Still hustling for old time’s sake, Ruby?”
Her face went white. “How…did you know?”
“I know everything that happens here. Why do you think it’s so hard for you to get a game?” He pointed to the hallway. “Go on, beat it.”
Still looking shell-shocked, Ruby walked out the door. She didn’t even meet his eyes as she passed, or kiss his cheek like she normally did. He knew then he’d damaged their bond. Possibly beyond repair.
He looked up to find Pamela staring past him into the apartment, her gaze zeroed in on the painting he’d done of her face, her hair. A tear tracked down her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” He hit her with a disgusted look. “You sure are.”
Bowen shut the door and locked all three dead bolts. Now that the moment had passed, now that he didn’t need to put on an act, hundreds of emotions he’d kept at bay for so long rushed in all at once. Helplessness, rage, sadness, pain, regret. They stormed through him, overturning everything in their wake. The grip he’d had on them finally slipped. He needed an outlet. He needed somewhere to put it all.
Sera appeared in the guest room doorway.
Before he’d made a conscious decision, he’d started toward her.
I should probably run now.
Sera knew it would be the smartest move, and yet her feet were glued to the floor. Deer in the headlights would be the correct term for what she probably looked like. Except this Bowen, the one who stalked toward her with an air of menace surrounding him, had to be scarier than a vehicle heading toward you at full speed.
She’d only heard the tail end of the argument with his sister, thanks to their voices rising. Curiosity getting the better of her, she’d opened the door a crack and seen him standing in the doorway with another woman. The pink-haired woman on his wall, who she’d pieced together had to be his mother. Even without knowing the history there, she knew with absolute certainty the visit had been hard for him. Very hard. And now the Bowen who’d taken her to church this morning and made her laugh was long gone. Replaced by a man she didn’t totally recognize.
If his threatening demeanor weren’t layered with an almost tangible vulnerability, she would have turned on her heel and barricaded herself in the bedroom. But she did see it. She saw his need to release frustration, maybe even pain. Pain she could heal. Healing was in her blood, thanks to her years as a nurse. Bowen brought that quality out of her like a bullet being fired. Heal. Fix. Repair.
Those acknowledged desires were her final thoughts before he reached her. His mouth slammed down on top of hers, stealing her breath. Rough hands dug into the skin at her hips as he walked her backward. It only took a second for his desperation to grow contagious. Her instincts were crying for her to ease his torment, to be the one who cured him. She plastered her body to his, circling her arms around his neck and digging her fingers into his hair.
Her legs met the edge of the bed and they toppled onto it, Bowen catching himself on his elbows so he wouldn’t crush her, but his mouth never stopped moving over hers. The kiss didn’t carry even a hint of sweetness. It was sex. Pure and simple. A hot, mind-blowing using of her mouth. His lower body found the notch between her thighs and bore down. She broke away from his mouth to moan, but he jerked her face back and bit her bottom lip.
Briefly, their eyes met and Sera felt the beginnings of alarm. She didn’t see Bowen in there anywhere. More than anything, she wanted him. Wanted this. But she wouldn’t be experiencing it with Bowen. She would regret it and so would he.
He growled as he pinned her arms over her head. “I bet you thought your first time would be with someone nice. Someone who would sprinkle rose petals on the bed and ease you in.” He bent down and ripped her shirt open with his teeth, buttons popping off onto the bed, exposing her lacy black bra. His hot gaze raked over her breasts as he worked his hips in a grinding circle. “Not me, Sera. I don’t do easy.”
“Bowen.” She just managed to bite back a moan. “Look at me.”
“All I do is look at you,” he practically shouted.
A knot formed in her throat at the sincerity in his statement. “You can be that nice guy. You are that nice guy.”
When his gaze darkened, she knew it had been the wrong thing to say. “You think I’m nice?” He leaned down and spoke against her ear, his tone reminding her of cut glass. “I don’t even know what that word means. I would ram my cock so deep into that virgin pussy, I’d hit your back wall on my first thrust. Do not fucking doubt me.”
Even knowing his words hadn’t been intended to arouse, they set a sharp ache pulsing between her thighs. “No, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t cause me pain.”
“Yes, I would.”
“No.” She wriggled one of her hands free to stroke the side of his face, relieved when he squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face into her hand. “Not like this, Bowen.”
When his eyes opened again, the glazed-over quality had mostly gone. He seemed to become aware of his surroundings again, really seeing her for the first time. As if a string had been cut, his body dropped heavily onto hers. He pushed his face up against her neck on a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “I know.”
“Please don’t be scared of me, Ladybug,” he said hoarsely. “I won’t be able to stand it.”
“I’m not.”
He turned onto his side and gently pulled her against his chest. As if she’d done it hundreds of times before, she tucked her head under his chin. Her eyelids started to feel heavy almost immediately, the fingers stroking the bare skin of her back not helping matters. Every few minutes, he would tug her closer, each time feeling like another apology. Still able to feel the tension in his body, she searched for a way to distract him.
“How did you get the live chicken?”
The fingers stroking her back paused, preempting his rumbling laugh. “Off the back of a truck in Crown Heights.” His fingers traced her earlobe, making her shiver. “He came with me so easily, I think he knew I was saving him from slaughter.”
“Chickens are intuitive like that.”
“Yeah?” His voice held a smile. “What about you? Are you intuitive?”
Her head bumped his chin when she nodded.
“Then what am I thinking about right now?”
Since she could feel his hard, jean-encased length against her thigh, she had a pretty solid idea. But something about the moment didn’t feel right for that. He still seemed distracted by what had happened with his sister and mother. “You’re thinking about bagels.”
“Let’s pretend you’re right.”
“Okay.”
Neither one of them moved to get up. With every moment that passed, every stroke of his fingers, she grew more and more tired. After her difficulty sleeping last night, it was impossible to stop herself from nodding off. Just before she faded into unconsciousness, Bowen whispered into her ear.
“I’m sorry. I think I have to keep you, Sera.”
Chapter Ten
Sera woke to darkness, shooting straight up in bed. She’d slept so deeply, it took her a moment to remember everything from the day. A quick glance at the clock radio on the side table told her it was eight o’clock. She flopped back onto the pillow to give herself a moment to let the grogginess dissipate. In the mornings, she never had a problem waking, but she felt as though she’d just woken from a coma.
When she shivered, Sera realized she still wore no shirt. The cold must have woken her, which meant Bowen had left only recently. It had felt so good, too good, to lie there with him and forget her responsibilities. She should be ashamed of how easily it had happened. Sleeping beside someone meant letting her guard down. Trusting the other person. She knew she needed to be more careful, but the voice of stern caution that usually spoke from within seemed to silence itself in his presence.
Was she naive to believe the Bowen Driscol she’d read about in police files wasn’t the real man? There was no denying he’d done terrible things, but her instincts couldn’t be this far off. He had good inside him.
She climbed out of bed in search of Bowen and found him sitting on the couch, hands clasped between his knees. His head came up when he sensed her, a sad smile moving across his face. Almost like he’d read every thought she’d had in the bedroom.
He cleared his throat and gestured to the wall. “You want to paint?”
“Yes, please.” In addition to being grateful for the distraction, she couldn’t deny a spark of excitement. “But I should warn you, I only have two specialties.”
“Which are?”
“Kitty cats and houses with smoke curling out of the chimney.” She sat cross-legged on the floor, surveying the paintbrushes. “I’m not sure if those will fit in with your theme.”
He frowned. “What theme?”
Sera ducked her head, feeling suddenly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Was he actually unaware of the pattern his murals created, or did he just want to know what she thought? She picked up a paintbrush and gestured to the painting of the Brooklyn Bridge, half intact, half engulfed in flames. “Good and evil,” she started quietly. “The battle between the two. Don’t you see it?”
Going into this investigation, she thought she knew the answer, but it didn’t seem quite so clear anymore. “I think maybe they both win once in a while.”
A beat of silence passed before Bowen broke eye contact, swiping an impatient hand through his hair. “Listen, I’ve been a shitty host. You need to eat something.”
On cue, her stomach groaned. “I could go for a bagel. Or nine.”
He stood. “Coming right up. Go ahead and get started.”
“Where?” The word froze on her lips when she saw a fresh white space on the wall. Right where the painting of his mother’s face had been.
“There.”
“Bowen—”
“I want to replace a bad memory.” He popped her bagel into the toaster and shot her a devilish grin. “Draw your cathouse.”
Sera bit her lip to stop a laugh. “I don’t think we’re on the same page.” She picked up a container of purple paint and squirted it onto an ancient-looking palette, stained with dozens of color blotches. Using a medium-sized paintbrush, she stirred the blob of paint. With a sigh, she stood and approached the wall.
“A purple cat?”
She jumped a little when he spoke from right behind her. He’d moved so quietly. “If you’re already criticizing, this is going to be a long night.”
“I’m not.” He held the bagel to her lips, giving her no choice but to bite. His eyes darkened as she chewed. “Just wondering about your color choice.”
Feeling self-conscious, she took the bagel from his hands. “Purple is the color of royalty. Maybe he’s heir to the kitty throne.”
“You’re putting some thought into this.”
She took another bite to save herself from having to answer. Truthfully, even though talking to him came naturally, she was feeling out of her element. Standing here with this dangerously beautiful man who brimmed with sexual confidence. This man, with swollen and lacerated hands, who held the paintbrush like an extension of his body, magnetized her like no other.
