Not My Heart to Break (Merciless World Book 3)

by W. Winters

  She doesn’t budge right now though. “Please, give it up.”

  “What am I going to do?” I ask, feeling a deep crease settle in the middle of my forehead as my lips form a straight line. “Men in the life don’t leave the life.”

  “You don’t have to keep this up,” she begs me, and I hate it. Every few months she does this. She can’t just accept it?

  “You knew who I was. There was never a question.” I have to contain my frustration so I don’t raise my voice.

  “I thought things would change!” she yells, and I know the guys can hear. “When things got better, I thought you’d stop!”

  “The guys are here.” I bring up that fact to try to get her to keep her voice down. “Don’t do this now.” Even though it’s a command, I know I’m asking her. Shit, I’d beg her not to do it in front of them.

  “When are we going to do it, Seth?” she says and her voice cracks when she questions me. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip to keep it steady and the moment she wraps her arms around herself, I wrap mine around her shoulders. My chest touches her crossed arms and then her chest when she finally relaxes.

  The anxiousness I feel seeing her broken down like this dims when she presses her chest against mine from her collar to her hips, and wraps her arms around me. Rubbing soothing motions up and down her back, I try to console her the best I can. Kisses in her hair, telling her it’s going to be all right. I don’t know what else I can do.

  She knows I can’t leave the guys; I can’t leave the life. What the hell would I do? I don’t know anything else.

  That’s the next step in this conversation. And then she tells me I can be anything. She believes it, too. My throat’s tight when I kiss her hair again, and I breathe in deep, inhaling the smell of her shampoo. It’s some floral scent.

  “I love you,” she whispers into my chest. I don’t know if she meant for me to hear it or not, she spoke it so softly, so I don’t answer. I just kiss her hair again and try to ignore that feeling in my gut that everything is all wrong.

  “I hate this shit,” I speak without thinking. I don’t even know why I said it.

  Laura takes a step back, no longer holding me and I have to straighten my expression, making sure she doesn’t see anything but confidence.

  “Hate what?” she asks, nearly breathlessly. Her eyes are larger, darker, swirling with a concoction of emotion that I can’t quite place.

  “I hate fighting,” I tell her honestly. “I hate you not being happy.”

  “I am happy,” she’s quick to tell me, ignoring all of the shit that just happened so she can give me what I want. She comes to that realization at the same time that I do, and she swallows tightly. A moment passes in silence, and then another. Reaching her hands up to my collar, she stares at the stubble on my jaw as she composes herself. “I’m just scared, Seth.”

  “Don’t be,” I say, putting every ounce of reassurance I can into my tone. “I’m right here; you have nothing to be scared about.”

  “You’re not always here, though.”

  I bite down hard on the tip of my tongue to keep from telling her I would be if she’d move in with me. Round and round we go. In a fucking circle.

  I hate when she does this shit. Sucking in a breath, I watch her staring up at me. Wide eyed, waiting for a response and not realizing how much it pisses me off.

  She’s always done this, though.

  Even when I first started walking her home from school. She still had the bruises and cut lip from Vito. I was busted up pretty good for a while too. It was only surface damage. That shit heals just fine. My pops took over along with his crew. If they were the first generation, we’re the second for this organization. His reign didn’t last long though. The Vitos weren’t going to go down in a single night. Pops knew that; we all did. So someone had to keep an eye on Laura. I volunteered.

  “You don’t have to babysit me,” I remember her telling me as I followed her down the dirt path along the field. She walked to school by herself usually, but we were engaged in an all-out war with whoever was left in Vito’s crew. No one was allowed to be alone. I stayed behind and kept my distance. Apparently it wasn’t far enough for her.

  “You don’t have to babysit me.”

  “I kinda do,” I called out since she was maybe six, ten feet ahead of me. It was turning to autumn and I remember how the breeze went by as she turned to face me. She may be small and meek and not wanting any of this shit, but there was so much fight in her. Still is.

  She faced me, the cornfield to her back, her cheek bruised. Her bookbag fell to the crook of her arm so she could open it and pull out a sweater.

  “My dad ask you to?” she asked without looking at me. She was putting all of her energy into pulling on that thin blue sweater like it was going to help her with how cold the air had just gotten. It was way too thin, but I didn’t have anything for her. Shit, I was only wearing a t-shirt.

  “No,” I answered her and licked my bottom lip. The cut there was still pretty bad and I ran the tip of my tongue over it, remembering the weekend before. She had balls. It was more than that though that made me volunteer to watch her. She looked to me. When the moment came and she was scared, she looked at me for help. That bruise on her face? I did that to her. I might as well have. As far as I’m concerned, I’m the one who put that mark on her face. A bar full of men and it took two blows before any of us stood up to Vito. Two punches to this girl’s face. Even me. Even knowing what I knew.

  I never should have sat idly by. Not when it came to her, and not when it came to all the other guys I grew up with, who Vito had knocked off one by one.

  My throat got tight and I had to clear it, shoving my hands in my jean pockets and kicking the dirt as I waited for her to get moving.

  “Your pops didn’t ask me to, no.”

  “Then why?” she bit out and when I looked up, she was finally looking me in the eyes. Could she see? All the guilt I felt? I wanted to make it up to her, but I couldn’t say that. When she looked at me, I should have stepped up. I shouldn’t have let her be the one to say no to Vito, even if I’d never said a word to her before. She shouldn’t have been the one to stand up to that man.

  I couldn’t speak so I just shrugged. “If you want me to go, just tell me.” I implied I’d leave, but I was a lying bastard back then.

  “I’d never do that,” she barely whispered and pushed the words out quick, like they were toxic and crazy. Like the thought of telling me to leave would be the worst sin she’d ever make.

  A moment passed, and there were so many things I wanted to say, so many things I needed to tell her, but I couldn’t say any of them. So I grabbed her arm, and directed her to walk. My hand slowly moved from her elbow, down to her wrist. I didn’t take her hand in mine; she did that. It took ten minutes of walking for her to do it. But she’s the one who did that and I’ve never felt anything better.

  It took her almost a year of going through turmoil together before she caved and finally let me kiss her. Two years have passed since then, and sometimes I still feel like I did the moment she slipped her hand into mine and let me walk her home.

  Laura’s soft voice brings me back to the present. “Seth, I just—”

  “You’re scared,” I say to cut her off when her plea breaks up the memory.

  “Shouldn’t I be?” she says, stressing the words like they’re some ultimate truth.

  “Come here.” I give her the command with both of my arms outstretched but she shakes her head. “Hey,” I say, hardening my voice and that gets her attention. “Didn’t we agree I should boss you around? Or do I need to get out whips and chains?” I joke with her about that BDSM shit. It does what it should and cracks a smile on her face.

  “That’s only for the bedroom,” she tells me and rolls her eyes, but her soft smile is still there. I motion for her to come to me and she does. Resting her head on my shoulder even though she’s focused on twirling the ends of her hair around her fingers.


  “You’re scared,” I tell her again. She’s quiet but I know she’s listening because her motions stop. “Steven Jackson knows some things, but not everything. Maybe he is scared for you, maybe he thinks something happened. I don’t know, but I can tell you,” I pause to wrap my hand around the nape of her neck and wait for her to look at me before continuing, “he doesn’t know shit.”

  I don’t know if it’s a lie or the truth, but her gaze already softens with relief. Her pouty lips drop open slightly, but I keep talking before she can say anything.

  “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about because we don’t tell him everything. Only little things he needs to know to keep him off our back.” Her eyes search mine and I don’t know what she’ll find after that half-truth leaves me.

  “If something was wrong, or if you were in danger, you know I’d hide you away.” I run my hand through her hair as I add, “I’d probably lock you up in that safe at the house.” I grin at the ridiculousness and she lets out a broken laugh and then sniffles.

  I let a minute pass, just rocking her, allowing her the moment she needs to realize Jackson isn’t the be-all and end-all. I am.

  “I’m sorry he got you all worked up and upset,” I tell her and kiss the crown of her head.

  “I’m sorry I let him,” she says. Her apology is quiet, and I hate it. Before I’ve even straightened my spine to stand upright, she’s coming at me, kissing me and wrapping her hands around my shoulders to keep me lowered for her.

  Her lips are hot, and her tongue is greedy. Everything inside of me simmers. “Greedy girl,” I groan against her lips when she finally pulls away.

  My right hand has already drifted to her ass, keeping her hip pressed against my thigh. My left is roaming, feeling curves I know so well and wanting to sear her skin, branding it with my touch to make sure she still belongs to me.

  “Seth,” she murmurs. The combination of tearstained cheeks and lust in her eyes makes me hard as stone for her. “I love you,” she tells me. “I hope the guys didn’t hear,” she adds before she takes another breath. She’s quick to do that. To deny me the opportunity to say it back. She’s afraid I won’t. I get it. I don’t mind it either. She likes to protect herself however she can.

  “I’m sure they did,” I answer her and then reach behind me to the doorknob, making sure it’s locked. The click is in time with the thump in my chest. “They aren’t going to hear you yell at me anymore though,” I tell her and unbutton my pants.

  Laura’s thighs clench as she stands there, in a ten-by-ten-foot room with me and nowhere to hide. Desire dances in her eyes.

  “We can’t,” she hisses, accompanied by the zip of my pants being undone.

  “If they can hear you yell at me, they can hear me fucking you, so you better be quiet.”

  My sweet innocent girl gasps and it thrills me. I love that I can still surprise her. “Don’t let them hear you,” I command her as I take a step forward, kicking off my jeans and sliding down my drawers as I go. She takes a step back until her shoulders hit the wall, as if she can escape me. As if she’d want to. “I want them to hear all the banging from me fucking your brains out against this wall. Not you moaning my name. Just this.” Splaying my hand on the drywall above her head, I slap my hand hard once against the wall. I lean my lips to the shell of her ear and say, “You need to be quiet. Do you hear me?”

  My cock is already leaking precum at the thought of being inside of her and everything being right again. Her small hand reaches out between us and she rubs the moisture over the head of my dick, making me groan. Dropping my lips to the crook of her neck, I kiss and suck and nibble while she strokes me until I’ve had enough.

  It takes everything I have to step back and tell her to strip down. I want her ass completely naked. Both of us. Our clothes are nothing but puddles of fabric on the floor. Before I lift her up, I run my fingers between her slick folds, teasing her, rubbing her sweet nub and testing her ability to be quiet. Her nails dig into my shoulder as she bites down on her lip. Her head slams against the wall as she rocks herself on my hand. She’s breathing too heavily, making too much noise.

  I don’t give a shit though. It wouldn’t be the first time my crew caught us going at it. They know to get the hell away and leave us alone.

  With a hand on each of her ass cheeks, I lift her up and she wraps her legs around my waist. “Bite my shoulder,” I demand, and she does it instantly. It’s a good thing she doesn’t hesitate, because I slam into her out of pure unadulterated need. My thrusts are primal and the harder she bites me, the harder I fuck her. My body is covered in a cold sweat and hers is hot to the touch on every inch. I take her like we both need, and I have no regrets about that.

  No fucking regrets. Not anymore.

  Laura

  I can’t even cross my legs; I’m so sore. Seth has some sort of magic over me. I don’t know what it is. The moment I’m in his vicinity, I’m a puppet for him. Whatever he commands, I do. Whatever he tells me, I believe. My body bends to his and I love it.

  It does terrify a small piece of me, though. That little voice is quiet right now, sated by what happened in the back room last night.

  And then again when Seth met me at his place and took me to bed.

  That second time reminded me of our first time. I keep comparing the two and I find nothing identical. Back then when I first gave into Seth years ago, the temptation to touch him, the urge to let him do whatever he wanted to me—I had never experienced it with anyone else. I knew nothing, except that I wanted him to finally touch me, to have me like I’d been fantasizing about. It would have happened sooner if my dad hadn’t died shortly after Seth started hovering over me. He was my protector for nearly a year before I kissed him.

  I remember being up on my tiptoes, my hand pressed against his chest and I kissed him as though I had done it a thousand times before. And I had in my mind. Every time he opened the door for me. Every time his fingers brushed against mine when we walked. Every time he laughed at the bar and with the rough cadence his hand landed on my thigh and stayed there. In the very forefront of my mind I leaned into him and kissed him, thousands of times or more. So that day, after having a drink and feeling the buzz of both intoxication and lust, I planted my lips directly onto his.

  I never imagined the groan of satisfaction. That deep, masculine sound was unexpected and a pleasant surprise that travelled down to my belly, and then further. His rough hands gripped my hips and he lifted me up, keeping his lips on mine, never breaking the heated embrace.

  Last night was slow and leisurely; that first night was a rush of primitive need. He couldn’t take my clothes off fast enough, until my bare back was on the table and my ass was hanging off. I’d have been mortified if he hadn’t dipped his head to my breasts and sucked, nipped and ravished every inch of my flesh. How could I be embarrassed by my body when he worshipped it the first glance he got?

  I was naked while he was still clothed. Again, it’s a difference. Last night was slow, relaxing, and he stripped first, then he took his time peeling my clothes off.

  “I’ll go slow,” he whispered at the crook of my neck when he had finally made it to that moment. The moment when I was no longer a virgin. I remember how hot I felt. How suffocating those prolonged seconds were between knowing it was going to happen, and it finally happening.

  “I don’t want you to go slow,” I told him, my mind clear and my desire evident. “I want you.”

  In one swift stroke he took me, hard and unabashed. He watched me as my eyes widened; he never stopped watching between heated kisses.

  “I’ll make sure you love it,” he promised as he pounded into me with reckless abandon and I don’t know for certain if the promise was for me or for him.

  My thighs tighten and I can still feel him. That night I knew I could never go back. I wasn’t sure if he could go back to pretending the attraction wasn’t there. He made damn sure I knew the next day when he took me into the bar and kissed me
in front of everyone. There was never any “going back” with Seth.

  When my phone buzzes in my hand, I instinctively jump from my seat in the waiting room and then hiss at the slight pain that throbs between my legs. It’s a good ache, but it’s embarrassing as fuck when the receptionist eyes me from behind the glass divider. Like I’m some kind of nuisance. I don’t want to be here anymore than she wants me here.

  I want to be a nurse; I don’t want to be a patient. I hate being a patient. Mostly because of insurance.

  I’ve already got my clipboard of paperwork filled out. Now I just wait in this room, sitting in one of the chairs that look like they’re from the ’80s while a cooking show plays in the upper right corner on a tiny little TV.

  I check the text I received, thinking it might be from Seth, but it’s not. Tell me something good.

  Cami’s text makes me smile.

  No news yet, I’m waiting to be seen. YOU tell me something good. I’m eager for her to distract me. I want to know all about what she and Derrick did last night. I feel like I’m in on the details because she told me, but Derrick didn’t tell Seth. I know because last night Seth told me he thinks that Derrick’s seeing someone seriously.

  You have to tell me what they say. As I read the text Cami sent back, a little disappointed that it’s not full of juicy details, an elderly woman in an oversized t-shirt comes into the waiting room from the doctor’s side and then leaves through the front doors. I glance at the woman at the front desk, wondering if this means it’s my turn, but nope, nothing yet.

  Tap, tap, tap, my shoe is at war with the wooden leg of my chair.

  Cami texts me again and I nearly shriek in the room. The gasp is certainly audible and when I look at the receptionist, she’s looking at me disapprovingly. Fucking hell. This isn’t the library.

  Giving her a tight smile, I return to my phone and read the text again.