Not My Heart to Break

by W Winters

  She never looked back; she just left.

  She should have known one day I’d come back for her. I’m going to make her feel the same regret I feel.

  Eight years later

  * * *

  I wonder if Laura knows it’s me, for about half a fucking second. The way she averts her eyes and refuses to look at me gives me the answer I’m looking for. The East Coast has been good to me. I wouldn’t have chosen it for myself, but it’s where Laura ended up.

  It’s pitch black and the stores in the shopping center are closing down. I’ve been parked here for a good three hours now, just watching. It’s what I’m paid to do and what I need to do tonight.

  I’m supposed to watch Jase Cross’s girl. I’ve been working with the Cross brothers ever since I left Tremont in Derrick’s hands. There was no one left to kill there, no challenges to face. So I followed Laura, keeping my distance and getting comfortable.

  Fate’s a prick.

  She’s with the girl I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on. I suppose it makes sense. My life’s a sick joke.

  Fuck, just looking at her dredges up everything. Every splinter of emotion I thought I’d long buried. The sick concoction of it all slips into the crevices of my bones as my eyes wander over the curves of her collarbone.

  Then lower, to the dip at her waist.

  It’s hot and cold. Anger then lust. Fuck, I can’t keep still in this piece of tin knowing she’s right there. So damn close, I could go get her if only I wanted to. Some moments I do, but I don’t know that I’m ready yet and I need her to come to me. A piece of me needs her to be the one to come to me.

  Her eyes catch mine once, then twice. She turns stiff in the car across the vacant parking lot.

  I bet she thinks I’m here for her. She thinks this is about her, and maybe it was when I first moved here. Now though, I have plenty to keep myself occupied here before I attend to her.

  If she thinks what’s between us is over, she’s wrong.

  If she thinks I’m going to let her get away with it, she’s out of her fucking mind.

  The wine bottle is nearly empty in her hands as she sits in the driver’s seat. I’ve been watching her and Bethany, Jase’s girl, drink at the bar, go into a shop, drink at another bar, and go into another shop all damn night. They’re both on the verge of fucked up when Bethany knocks on my window, wanting a ride.

  The slow smirk is hard to hide when I roll down my window. She thinks she can trust me. She hasn’t learned that in this life, you can’t trust anyone. Not even the ones you love.

  Bethany’s a sweet girl but oblivious. It’s nearly sick how much I revel in her unsuspecting question to simply take them home.

  Bethany gets in easily enough, feeling safe and secure because she knows her boyfriend is my boss. She knows I won’t do a damn thing to hurt her.

  She has no idea what I want to do to Laura, though. She isn’t aware that I know her. I know Laura more than I know anyone.

  The click of Laura’s car door echoes in the empty lot as does the staccato of her heels as she makes her way to my car. I remember those blue eyes spearing into mine when she peeks at me through her thick lashes.

  She gets in without a word, but the air burns hot. Her friend is clueless. Utterly unaware.

  I can’t hear a damn word Bethany’s saying of the confession that spills from her and I wonder if Laura can hear it. If she has the patience for it, the mental capacity to think of anything other than what I’m going to do to her once Bethany gets her ass out of this car.

  The few miles it takes to drop off Bethany are far too long. Every second is drawn out by the deep breaths Laura takes.

  My grip tightens on the wheel, thinning the tight skin on my knuckles and turning it white. The click of the turn signal distracts me from whatever Bethany’s saying, but not from the sweet cadence of Laura’s response.

  Her voice is a memory that thickens the tension between us.

  It takes fifteen minutes until Bethany’s out of the car, closing the door and asking me sweetly to take Laura home.

  I’ve been in this town for years now. I’ve come close to seeing the girl who stole my heart and left me with nothing, face to face, more times than I can count. I’ve been patient though. Good things come to those who wait.

  It’s not until Bethany closes the front door, that Laura speaks to me.

  “Seth.” Laura speaks my name like a sin. She has to clear her throat after she says my name, the nerves eating away at her and showing easily enough.

  The leather groans in the back of my car as she adjusts in her seat.

  I’m already down the pebbled path of the driveway, minutes from the highway and debating on which way I should go. Left to her place, or right, to mine.

  “Seth, please,” she begs me although I don’t know what for.

  I’m silent, remembering all the times she begged me before when she was under me, writhing and loving me.

  I love you. How many times did she tell me that just minutes after moaning my name like she used to do?

  I can hear her swallow and in the rearview mirror, I watch as her chest rises and falls heavier with each passing second that I don’t acknowledge her.

  “Seth, would you say something please, you’re scaring me.”

  Scaring her? If she knew what I became when she left me, she’d be fucking terrified.

  My gaze moves to the mirror, watching her nervously bite down on her lower lip. Those plump lips I used to bite myself.

  Licking my own, I let out a deep sigh and sit back into my seat, easing the tense muscles and letting more time pass simply to torture her.

  She leans forward, refusing to just wait like a good girl. Her hand grips the top of my seat, her fingers brushing my shoulder. The short touch is gentle, seemingly innocuous, but it lights up every nerve ending in me.

  “Seth, please, just talk to me.” As she speaks, her voice cracks and her eyes turn glossy.

  I can feel how her heart breaks only inches from mine. Her pain is like a hit of ecstasy after years of being clean. I want more of it; I crave it like an addict.

  “What do you want me to say, Babygirl?” I question her and wait at the red light, right at the fork that decides where we’re going.

  I can hear the hitch in her breath, I can feel the heat that revs up inside of her. Was it Babygirl that did it? Or simply having me answer her after nearly a decade of silence?

  Inhaling deeply, I get a heavy dose of her sweet scent. Fuck, it’s just like I remember. Everything about her is exactly what I remember. I didn’t make it up in my mind. She’s intoxicating.

  “Anything,” she breathes as the red light turns green and I make my decision, knowing exactly what I’m going to do to her tonight, how I’m going to make her pay for leaving me and fucking me over. “Just tell me anything.”

  Locking my gaze with hers I ask her, keeping my voice low to try to hide the anger, “How did you really think this was going to end?”

  * * *

  Seth & Laura’s story continues in… Desperate to Touch.

  Desperate to Touch

  Desperate to Touch

  * * *

  by W Winters

  * * *

  I ran from him, even though my heart knew better.

  Love was one thing, but survival another.

  * * *

  He chose a life of crime and I never wanted any of it; I only wanted him. I left when the danger bled into my life, taking more than I was willing to sacrifice.

  I should have known he'd come for me. Men like him always get what they want.

  The temptation in his eyes, the heat of his touch... it's all still there, but his gaze is harsher now and his grasp unrelenting.

  He's not the boy I fell in love with, although pieces of what we once had are still there. I can feel it.

  I know what he wants from me, and I know it comes with a steep price. I'll pay it though, if for no other reason than to touch him again. Just once
more.

  I'll close my eyes and forget about the risks that come with this life and with him. I only hope he doesn't do the same.

  * * *

  Desperate to Touch is book 2 in a series. Hard to Love must be read first.

  Authors note

  “Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.”

  ― Stephen King

  Prologue

  Laura

  * * *

  The first year Seth moved to the East Coast, years ago

  * * *

  The journal in my hand is thick and the edge of its pages are worn. As though she didn’t just write in its pages daily, but instead read and reread the scribbled confessions of the past three years constantly. The spine itself is cracked and it divides the journal in two.

  Guilt riddles its way into my thoughts. I shouldn’t be reading a patient’s journal, not when she only gave it to me because I told her I’d fix it for her. She trusted me because I’m her nurse. I’m supposed to help Delilah and take care of her.

  The poor woman who lives on pills during the day and is haunted by nightmares when the sun sets gave me all her secrets. I know I shouldn’t take it, but the second half of the journal starts with the description of a barn Marcus took her to.

  Marcus. Just seeing his name chills me down to my bones. I don’t even realize that I’ve stopped moving, breathing, that I’ve simply halted in the middle of the narrow hall until a sweet new resident asks me if I’m okay. I think her name is Bethany.

  “Fine,” I tell her and force a smile, although the scribbled name, Marcus, lingers in my mind. The whispered hiss, Marcus, repeats itself faster and faster as I make my way to the office to read what she wrote about him. The Rockford Center deals with mental health, so naturally, drugs and violence are a conversation starter. Many of my patients talk about Marcus. Marcus and the Cross brothers. Recently, Seth King is a name that’s going around too. I have to close my eyes, swallowing thickly as I shut the door to the dark office, leaning my back against it and simply trying to breathe.

  Seth King, the man I loved on the other side of the country. The man I ran away from. He gave me time, but I knew he’d come for me. It’s been a week since I first heard he was here, only miles from me, and I’ve been praying. I begged God to give me a sign, to tell me what to do. Opening my eyes, I stare down at the notebook. My salvation.

  I photocopied every page of Delilah’s journal, hiding in the small back office of the Rockford Center. I can still remember how anxious I was and how heat smothered every inch of my skin. Knowing I could be fired instantly, I still had to do it. I’d only just started working at the center, my first job as a nurse. I had to do whatever it took to survive. I suppose I’d been saying that a lot back then.

  That journal was my leverage for when Seth inevitably came for me. Filled with multiple entries all about Marcus, the boogeyman, the Grim Reaper. A faceless villain who made deals in back alleys, running the streets around these parts, battling for power along with the Cross brothers. Unlike Carter Cross and his brothers, no one knows who Marcus is. They’ve never seen his face, but his signature power plays and ruthless reputation are notorious.

  I thought that if Seth came for me demanding the money I stole, I’d give him the copies. I thought maybe it would be of value to him because I knew he came to work with the Irish mob who ruled this part of the East Coast, a.k.a. the Cross brothers. And they’d give anything to uncover any details on their faceless nemesis, Marcus, and his secrets.

  They were all in the worn journal. This woman Delilah, my patient, had seen him. Felt him. She loved Marcus. She had a single journal when she was first admitted. It described details of where they met and what he wanted with her. It was leverage. Several years have passed; my patient’s collection has grown as she’s come in and out of the Rockford Center, when her mental state is too harmful to be away from the help we give her. She has a journal for every year, five years now, and I never stopped photocopying them. I could give Seth information on Marcus, in hopes that he wouldn’t hold our past against me.

  I kept waiting and waiting for Seth to come for me. Didn’t he know he’d have to be the one to make the first move? I wouldn’t even be able to look him in the eyes or say his name out loud.

  Seth King.

  Years came and went yet he never approached me. It wasn’t relief I felt, it was like a prolonged mourning. Maybe he wanted me to feel his presence, to know I couldn’t have him. I remember the first night that thought came to me, and how hard I sobbed against my pillow at the thought. I’d take my punishment; I deserved it.

  Fate is a cruel sorceress, but this time I love her. Because last night, I saw him. I spoke to him. He called me Babygirl and even through the fear, I want him to say it again.

  Seth

  She still doesn’t know how badly she fucked me over.

  I try to keep that in mind as I wait for Laura. Waiting for her is all I’ve done since she said good night two weeks ago. Each hour has felt like an eternity. She whispered it when she opened the back door of my car, sliding out with tears running down her cheeks. She never cried in the open; she hated the tears. “Useless” is what she used to mutter when she was on the verge of tears.

  Back then I always held her while she let it all out. That night, fourteen days ago, I merely watched as she stayed as silent as she could, wiping the tears from her cheek. Maybe that’s why she whispered “good night”—she didn’t trust herself to speak too loud or else I’d realize she was crying.

  I already knew though. She should know better than to think she can hide from me.

  If she thinks I don’t know how much it hurts, she’s dead wrong.

  The tick of the clock in Jase’s office doesn’t stop. It reminds me that I’m getting closer to seeing her again. She’s to meet me, to come prepared to pay for the damages. She doesn’t know though, just how much she fucked me over.

  “Anything else on Walsh?” Jase questions his brother, Declan, as I sit in the corner chair, a dark leather wingback. I listen to the two of them go over the details Declan’s been able to gather on the crooked cop hell-bent on revenge against the man known as Marcus. Only half my attention is on them. Until Declan says something about pitting the two of them against one another.

  For a moment, I’m torn from my obsessive thoughts of seeing Laura tonight. The thoughts have been coming and going throughout the day. In the dark of night, alone in my bed with nothing but the memories of her, not a damn thing could get through to me. Certainly not sleep.

  “Seth, what do you think?” Jase asks me, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt. Watching him lean back against his chair, the tailored suit jacket draped behind him, I’m reminded that I have shit to do other than deal with the woman who broke what semblance of a heart I had.

  “I think being between the two of them is a piss-poor place to be,” I say, speaking up so Declan can hear me from where he is on the other side of the expansive office. His head is down as he types on the keys of his sleek laptop. It’s state of the art and expensive as fuck with all the software loaded onto it. He’s constantly searching for more information on Cody Walsh, the cop and former FBI agent who came to this town wreaking havoc.

  “It would be easier if Walsh wasn’t blackmailing us to help him find Marcus.”

  “It’s not like we can give him Marcus anyway. He’ll learn that it’s not that easy,” I comment but the foresight of what will happen along the way, and more importantly, after, breeds a disdain for the scheming cop. Months of surveillance on Marcus’s men have given us nothing but a list of men who work for the man. Nothing about him in particular. We don’t have a damn thing to give Walsh.

  “Then how does him blackmailing us play out?” Jase’s unspoken concerns are read easily with the worry in his expression. If we can’t help Officer Walsh find Marcus, he could turn in the evidence he has on Jase and me. Then we’re fucked.

 
“We need to get something on Walsh. We can’t trust that he doesn’t have backups of the tapes. We could bury ourselves helping him and in the end, he’d turn us in anyway.”

  “I agree with Declan,” I say as I nod solemnly. My voice is even and calm. The threat of going away for murder is there... but all I can focus on is Laura, and making her sweet ass pay for leaving me.

  “Even if Walsh does turn in the evidence, we have ways to get around a conviction,” Jase says and his menacing glare moves to the lit fireplace on the right side of the room. “As soon as we’re able, I want him dead.”

  I used to feel chills at the thought of murder. They would climb up my spine, sending a freezing cold deeper into my blood as they crept their way up. Not anymore, though. It’s been quite some time since I’ve felt any remorse or apprehension at the depravity I engage in.

  “It must be done,” I agree.

  “When the time comes, we burn his house down, raid his office and get any evidence you can find.”

  “His car too,” Declan adds. “He has PO Boxes in the upper east. Those need to be ransacked as well. All three of them.”

  “What the hell is he doing with those?” A crease settles deep between my brow.

  “Maybe that’s where he stores his evidence?” Jase questions, and a hopeful glint resurrects itself in his dark gaze. “Former FBI agents have their quirks and habits. We need to learn every single one of this prick’s.”

  I only nod. There’s no telling why Walsh does what he does. He seems to work alone, but the more we learn, the more is amiss. The evidence in his possession could put us away for murder. I’m not willing to allow that. Not when I just got Laura back.