Hearing him say it eased some of the tension inside me. Sullivan may have killed before, but he wasn’t a murderer. There was a difference. An important one. And I couldn’t throw stones. Not when my own house was made of glass. I unclenched my hands from the counter and took a deep breath. “We’re clear.”
“You wanted to know,” he said. “Starting to regret it?”
“No.” I stroked his cheek. The rasp of stubble felt rough against my fingers.
“Do you trust me, Rose?” His expression was intense, inscrutable.
“With my life.”
He nodded once, seemingly satisfied. “Then please do as I ask. Come stay at the house. It’s secure there. You’ll be safe.”
It would ease his mind if I locked myself away at his place, like a bird in a cage. But I wasn’t a person who hid from trouble. I met it head on.
“Now it’s your turn, Thomas.”
His brows soared. I never called him by his Christian name. No one did. He let go of my chin and waited, his gaze wary.
“Do you love me?” I whispered. “The real me? Because I don’t run from danger—you’re living proof of that. Sometimes I let my curiosity override my good sense. I’ll never stop asking about your past, and I’m never going to butt out of your business. That’s not who I am. I’m not going to change any more than you will. So do you love me?” With my pulse racing, I waited as feelings of dread and hope battled it out.
He nodded. “You know how I feel about you.”
This time I said nothing. Our eyes clashed, held. After several moments, his narrowed into slits. “You never let up, do you? You have to keep pushing.” His hands flung out, grabbing my shoulders. His fingers bit into me. “Yes, I love you. Is that what you want to hear? I love every fucking thing about you, Rose Strickland. I can’t stop loving you, and God knows I’ve tried.”
At his confession, I was too overwhelmed to breathe. Once I remembered how, I asked, “Then why don’t you trust me?”
“I do.”
“You don’t. That’s why you refuse to tell me anything about yourself. You don’t think I can handle it.”
He shook me as he spoke. “My father wasn’t a doctor. My mother sure as hell wasn’t a socialite. I didn’t live in a goddamned mansion and go to private schools. I’ve had to fight and claw for everything I have. I’ve done things, things I’m not proud of.”
That had been my own fear earlier, that I couldn’t accept his past, that it would change how I felt about him. But as I looked into his eyes, I knew I could take whatever he threw my way. It wouldn’t faze me. “No matter what you’ve done, I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not taking that chance.”
I reached between us and flattened my hand on his muscled chest. His heart pounded, beating a rapid rhythm against my palm. “I’m so damn pissed at you right now, I want to scream, but I’m still here. I’m not running away. I see the darkness in you, Sullivan. And I love that part of you too.”
His eyes shimmered with an emotion I didn’t understand. Then he pulled me to him and kissed me, bruising my lips, his hands rough on my skin. As I jerked the suit jacket off his shoulders and tore at his shirt, I wasn’t gentle either.
Two hours and a hot shower later, I lay nestled against him, my damp hair fanned out across his bare chest. While he stroked my arm with his thumb, I closed my eyes. Images of Buster were still there, but I felt calmer now. The memory of him would never leave, but I knew from past experience that over time it would fade.
“What were you talking about earlier?” Sullivan asked. “When you said you were pissed off. What did I do?”
I lifted my head, peering up at him. “You want to talk about that now?”
“Yes.”
I sat up, pulling the sheet with me. “You’re in business with killers. You can’t possibly trust them. What were you thinking?”
He jerked at the sheet, tugging it from my hands. “Alleged killers,” he said to my breasts.
I slapped at his knuckles and took the sheet back. “Don’t split hairs. These people are capable of it, you know that. Why get mixed up with them in the first place?”
“Sometimes the reward outweighs the risk.”
“You’re a brilliant man. If you would channel all that energy into a legitimate business, you wouldn’t have to worry about shit like this.”
His face took on that annoying superior expression he got when he was backed into a corner. “Neither one of us is going to change our ways. We need to accept that and move on.”
“Fine. Let’s talk about your stable. These men owe you money, so you’re making them fight each other? That’s sadistic.”
He began laughing then. Deep brackets appeared on either side of his mouth. “That’s what you think, that I’m forcing these guys to fight like gladiators?” He leaned on one elbow and traced my collarbone with his finger. “Rose, these men fight because they live for it. They breathe it. Why do you think they started fighting in the first place? They don’t come from decent homes. They grew up poor, and they see it as a way out. Boxing, competitive martial arts—those are sports rich men bet on, but they don’t participate in them. These guys will fight with or without me. I just give them a platform.”
“Tyler said he started fighting in order to pay you back.”
He let out a sigh. “Tyler’s been wrestling since he was in school. He offered to fight, saw it as a way to pay off his debt. I could have found a dozen different jobs for him by now. If he said I’m forcing him to do anything, he’s feeding you a line of bullshit.”
I thought about that for a moment. Tyler would have made a perfect suspect for Rob’s murder, but after seeing him this afternoon, barely able to walk or breathe without wincing, I ruled him out as Buster’s killer. “He had birch sap water in his fridge.”
“So?”
“Maybe he’s in contact with Sanders. Why else would he have it? The water is disgusting.”
“Wyatt probably gave a pack to every fighter. I’m sure he’s desperate for potential customers.”
Maybe. I still wasn’t convinced. “What if Wyatt is trying to steal away your best fighter?”
“Wouldn’t matter. Wyatt’s going to be out soon. Besides, Tyler’s too smart to double-cross me.”
I worked my fingers through my hair, untangling the damp knots. “What about all the drugs?”
“What drugs? Steroids?”
“For starters.”
“We’re not the UFC. We don’t drug-test them or crack down on usage. If they want to wreck their bodies with that shit, they’re going to do it. I’m not their nanny. I’m in this to make money, and I’m not going to apologize for it or handicap myself.”
“What about the other drugs?”
His brow knitted and he sat all the way up, lifting his knee and draping his arm over it. Possibly the sexiest pose ever. All that golden skin and hard-packed muscle. Focus, Rose.
“What other drugs?” he asked again.
“Rob had hundreds of them stashed away. Narcotics. Pills.”
“And you know this because you broke into his house and searched it?”
I scoffed. “Of course I did.”
“I don’t know anything about pills. Maybe he was selling them.”
“I don’t think so. And they weren’t for his own personal use. Both Sofia and Kai were adamant about that. What about Cadewell? He prescribed a bunch of pills to Tyler.”
“I assume if he prescribes something, it’s because the guys need it.”
“Rob’s drugs came in the assorted variety, all stuffed in a baggie.”
“Doesn’t sound like he got them from a doctor.”
No, it didn’t. So where did he get the drugs? And what did they have to do with his death? Anything?
; I reached out and laced my fingers with Sullivan’s. He lay back down and pulled me next to him, tucking my head beneath his chin.
Chapter 18
My sleep had been fitful, filled with visions of Buster—sometimes alive, sometimes dead. Between my nightmares, the lack of sleep, and finding Sullivan gone when I awoke, I was a wee bit cranky when I staggered out to my car and remembered I hadn’t driven it home from the gym.
But Henry was there, waiting for me. In the parking lot the lights still glowed, shining down on his dark brown hair. He stood next to one of Sullivan’s numerous black SUVs, arms and ankles crossed, rolling a toothpick from one side of his lips to the other. The air was balmy, but since the sun wouldn’t pop up for another couple of hours, the temperature was bearable.
“Hey there, Rose. I’m your driver today.”
“So Pete’s out and you’re in?”
“I’m the A team, kid, and I’m sticking to you like Velcro.”
I hopped in his car without argument. When we reached the diner, I turned to my new bodyguard. “You may as well come in and grab a piece of real estate. Corner tables are the best, that way you can stare down the stragglers and make them uncomfortable enough to bounce.”
He shook his head. “I only understand half of what you’re saying. It’s like you speak your own language.”
“Ah, thanks, big guy.”
When we entered the diner, I waved to Ray and Jorge. “This is my friend, Henry. He’ll be with me a few days.” Hopefully, less than that.
Neither Ray nor Jorge seemed the slightest bit curious that I was towing around a scarred stranger. Ray mumbled from his spot at the grill, and Jorge glanced up from his biscuit dough. “Hey, man. Nice suit.”
Henry jerked on his lapels and rolled his shoulders. “Custom, kid. Never buy ’em off the rack.” He glanced down at me. “The boss taught me that.”
“Good to know,” I said. “The next time I’m in the market for a suit, I’ll keep it in mind.”
I walked through the connecting door with Henry practically on top of me. The dining room was shrouded in darkness, which was weird because I was running a little late this morning. If Ma planned on coming in to work, she’d have been here by now. Roxy was late too, which almost never happened.
I flipped on the lights and started a giant pot of coffee before tending to the rest of the diner. I pointed to the corner that would give Henry the best vantage point and he chose a chair with peeling white paint.
I hurried around, setting up tables, rolling silverware, making sure the syrup dispensers were filled. But the minute—the very second—the coffee finished dripping, I poured myself a giant to-go cup. I was so eager to get caffeine into my system, I scalded my tongue.
Ray had stopped by the donut shop and bought two dozen assorted. Now, I dug them out of the box and arranged them on the cake stand. Then I plated a glazed and a chocolate, grabbed a ceramic cup of coffee, and set them in front of Henry.
“Thanks, Rose.”
I dropped my knee on the empty chair next to him. “Hey, can I ask you a question?” He raised his eyebrows. “How did you and Sullivan meet?”
Henry grinned, which was only slightly less terrifying than his scowl. “Sorry, but if you have questions about the boss, take them up with him.”
“You’re infuriating.” I whisked the chocolate donut from under his nose and stuck it with the others on the cake stand. Petty and punitive? Perhaps.
Henry chuckled—a low rumbling sound that told me he was amused rather than offended.
Next, I brewed a pot of decaf. By the time it was done, Roxy blew through the door and met me behind the counter. “Are you all right?” I asked.
“Overslept. What’s Henry doing here?” Then she stopped and studied me. “What happened?”
“Buster’s dead. I found his body last night.”
Roxy’s hand flew to her mouth, covering a gasp. Then she grabbed my wrist and dragged me to the restroom. Locking the door, she leaned against it, blocking my exit. “Spill. Right now.”
I sat on the small vanity and told her the condensed version of my night, leaving out the personal stuff involving Sullivan.
She swallowed hard. “You just found him? Lying there in a pool of his own blood?”
I grimaced at the graphic description. “Yeah. It was awful, and I can’t help but feel responsible.”
“Well, don’t. I’m with Sullivan on this one. What if you’d been there when Buster got whacked? You might be dead too.” In a very un-Roxy-like move, she threw both arms around my shoulders. It was a brief hug, but I appreciated it. When she pulled away, her blue eyes were filled with a sadness I rarely saw. Anger, humor, irritation—frequently—but not sadness. “I’m sorry.”
“What for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I feel like I’ve let you down. Like I haven’t been around much lately.”
She hadn’t been, but I didn’t hold it against her. “That’s okay. You’ve got a new friend. I understand.”
She stepped back, her expression somber. “You haven’t exactly been there for me either, Rose.”
“What are you talking about?”
“While you’ve been busy with your new job and Sullivan, I’ve been going through some stuff too.”
I grabbed her hand, gave it a light squeeze. “What stuff?”
For Roxy to admit she needed anything but a cigarette was monumental. Roxy Block was a walking, talking contradiction. Though she dressed like a pampered little girl, with frilly dresses and matching purses, I’d describe her personality as abrasive. She reminded me of a flowering cactus, inviting the world to stare at her, to admire the pretty, eccentric exterior, but get too close and she’d use her sharp thorns to protect herself. Inside, Roxy was vulnerable and insecure. Fragile. I’d never say that to her face, though. She’d kick my ass.
Shaking her head, fat blue pigtails grazed her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. I took care of it.”
“Roxy. What stuff?”
Propping her hip against the sink, she removed her hand from mine. “My mom called me about three weeks ago.”
“Like your mom mom?” Roxy spent most of her formative years in foster care. She rarely talked about it, and I didn’t pry.
“Yeah, my bio mom. She’s sober now. Said she was sorry for being a shit parent.” I wanted to pull her into a hug, but from her stooped shoulders I sensed she couldn’t tolerate physical contact right now. “She was worse than horrible, Rose. She was…Some people shouldn’t have kids. Marla’s one of them.” She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t really need to.
“What did you say when she apologized?”
“I told her to fuck off and have a sucky life. I haven’t heard from her since.”
“Do you want to hear from her again?”
She rubbed her lips together. “No.” Then she shrugged. “I don’t know. You always want your mom to love you. You know how that goes.”
“You pretend like it doesn’t matter, but the need to please never completely goes away.”
“I knew you’d get it.”
“You should have told me, Rox. I know my life has been crazy lately, but I’ll always have time for you.”
Crossing her arms, Roxy sniffed and focused her attention on the soap dispenser. “Don’t kid yourself. Pretty soon you’ll be leaving the diner, and I’ll never see you. You’ll probably even go back to your old life. Cocktail parties and weekends at the country club. Good luck with that.”
I was off the sink and standing in front of her before even realizing I’d moved. Prickles of anger, like tiny shards of glass, tingled up my neck, making my skin feel hot and dry. “My old life? Leaving the diner? What the hell are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere.”
She finally looked at me wi
th a defiant tilt of her chin. “Huh, of course you are. This job with Hardass is just a stepping stone. Next, you’ll be getting married to Sullivan. Your mom won’t like him, but she’ll accept him. He has money, clout. Where does schlepping coffee fit into this picture?”
Anger came to the fore, but underneath it was pain. Was this what Roxy really thought of me? “My God, you sound just like Jacks. Get it straight, I’m not going anywhere. Do you honestly think I’d let Sullivan swoop in and take care of me, like I was some helpless little female? That I’d go back to my parents, like nothing ever happened?”
She had the decency to appear embarrassed, and her gaze drifted to the floor. “I don’t know,” she mumbled.
“You, of all people, should know. You and Ma and Axton—you may not be blood, but you’re my family.”
Her eyes slowly lifted. Roxy didn’t trust many people, but she’d always trusted me. I understood her shift in attitude these last few weeks. It all made sense. Roxy thought I’d leave her, so she’d started pulling away, spending all of her time with Sugar. She expected me to abandon her and was protecting herself.
“I haven’t told anyone else about my mom,” she said. “Don’t say anything, okay? When she called out of the blue like that, I didn’t know what to do. She wants to make amends. I’m not some freaking step she can check off on her journey through AA.”
“If she’s sincere, she’ll call again.” I’d been standing toe to toe with her this whole time; now I fell back and rested my butt on the counter. “Probably took a lot of courage for her to approach you.” She opened her mouth, but I held up a hand. “I’m not saying she’s a good person. Or that she’s changed. But it had to be difficult, calling you after all these years.”
Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4) Page 21
