by Jen Davis
“Bring him here.” She rattled off her address. “But Kane? Make sure no one follows you.”
“I promise. I’ll be there in ten.”
They made it in eight. Enough time for her to dig out her first aid kit. She opened the front door as soon as a car pulled up outside.
In the shadows, she spotted the big frame of the biker-looking guy she remembered seeing at Will’s work site. He practically dragged an even larger man who had one arm crooked behind his neck for support.
Jonathan.
She ran out and met them three feet in front of the doorway. As they moved together into the apartment, the light gave her a first look at Jonathan’s face. Her attempts to prepare herself failed, and her eyes filled with tears.
His entire face was swollen and misshapen, but his left cheekbone looked the worst. She guessed it was the cheekbone, but it could have been his eye; it was hard to tell because it was swollen shut. A cut above his eyebrow was bleeding and it appeared it had been for a while. Wet and dried blood trailed down his cheek and smeared on his neck and bare chest. He only wore a pair of knee-length shorts.
He was clearly out of it. The one eye she could see appeared tired and unfocused. She didn’t think he even knew where he was because he didn’t so much as glance at her when Kane settled him down on the sofa.
“How do I help him?” she murmured.
The grim expression on Kane’s face only made it worse. “Keep him awake until you’re sure he’s coherent. No doubt he’s got a concussion. Get some ice on the swelling. Clean him up. Not much else you can do.” A horn honked outside. “My buddy Cue Ball is outside waiting.” He moved toward the door. “If it gets too bad, call 911. He won’t be happy about it, but you do what you’ve got to do, hear me?”
He didn’t even wait for an answer before he let himself out. She stared at the closed door for a heartbeat, until a groan from the sofa snapped her attention back where it belonged. With Jonathan.
She moved quickly to the kitchen, where she filled a large bowl with warm water and grabbed a washcloth. She could only assess the damage underneath the blood if she cleaned him up first. As she knelt in front of him, she wondered whether he might do better in the bathtub, but even if she got him in, she wasn’t sure she could get him out. No, it would have to be a sponge bath for now.
She ran the warm wet cloth over his forehead, and he made a noise in the back of his throat. “Jonathan?” Her voice came out small and thin. He didn’t respond, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Jonathan.” She said it louder this time, and the lid on his right eye fluttered. She rinsed the cloth in the water, then returned it to his face. “It’s Liv. I need you to wake up, sweetheart. Look at me.”
His eye opened slowly. He licked his lips, then opened his mouth, but instead of speaking, he broke out in a fit of coughing.
As quickly as she could, she grabbed the water bottle she’d left on the coffee table before bed. She held it to his lips. “Here. Drink. Don’t try to talk.” She tilted the bottle up, and though a little dribbled down his chin, his throat moved as he swallowed.
The coughing died out.
“I need to clean this cut before I bandage it.” She lifted an alcohol pad to his face. “This is going to hurt.”
He squeezed his eye closed, but didn’t flinch, as she gently ran the astringent over the gash. She pulled out two butterfly bandages and did her best to close the cut. The bleeding had almost stopped.
“Okay. The hard part’s done. Keep your eyes on me.”
His lid rose again. This time, his gaze appeared sharper. She finished cleaning his face, then moved down to his throat. He lifted his chin to give her better access, and she wondered if he allowed many others to get this close. His breathing changed subtly as she rubbed the cloth down and across his chest.
She froze. “Am I hurting you?”
“In the best way, baby,” he rasped.
Her face heated, and she bit back a smile. If he could flirt, surely, he wasn’t dying. “None of your swagger, Mister. Not when you look like you’ve been hit by a train.”
The air in the room suddenly felt a little lighter. “You think you could stand long enough for a quick shower? I could help you.”
He looked like he was trying to raise his eyebrow, but with his swollen face, he couldn’t quite pull it off.
“Don’t give me that look. I need to make sure you’re alert, and the shower might help. Come on.” She reached for his hand. Her fingers had barely touched his when he yelped and jerked away.
Holy shit. His hands were destroyed. She leaned closer so she could see better. His fingers were fat and distorted, the skin mottled. Dried blood crusted across his split knuckles. A few still oozed.
“It’s okay,” she soothed. Her stomach churned, but she fought to keep her nerves out of her voice. “You can shower in the morning. We’ll take care of your hands now.”
He groaned. “Good. I’m not sure I can get off the sofa.”
***
Brick
Liv relaxed against him after doctoring his hands, and Brick kissed the top of her head. No one had ever fussed over him this way before. It humbled him. “Thank you for taking care of me. You’re giving me exactly what I need right now.”
She burrowed deeper into his side. “What happened tonight?”
He didn’t want to think about the clusterfuck in the ring, but he wouldn’t ignore her question. “A fight. I told you earlier.”
“You told me the fights were fixed. You said you always won.” With the strain in her voice, he couldn’t tell if she was angry or upset.
“I did win.”
She pulled back and shot him a critical look.
“Really. The other guy looks as bad as I do. Maybe worse.”
“You made it sound like this wasn’t a big deal. Like I didn’t have to worry about you getting hurt. Why didn’t you warn me it might be this bad? I care about what happens to you.”
He decided she was angry and upset. He needed to make things better. Fast. “I didn’t mean to trick you, Livie. I swear. The fights are fixed. Sucre decides how long they last, so he can cash in on his bets. I could have taken the guy down quickly, but I had to make it last.” His jaw tightened. “I had to let him hit me. By the time I’d been in there long enough, I could barely pull out the win.”
The horrified expression on her face warmed his heart. “He forced you to—How long? How long did he make you stay in there?”
“Twenty-two minutes.”
Her face darkened as she considered his words. Minutes passed before she finally spoke. “You’re a toy to him. A tool he uses to line his pockets and build his empire. It doesn’t even matter what it does to you along the way.” She didn’t even know the worst of it. “You hurt people. You kill people.”
Shit. This was it. The truth of who he was—what his life was like—it was finally sinking into her brain. The blood drained from his face. He was going to lose her, but he wasn’t going to lie. “Yes.” He locked his muscles, steeling himself for rejection.
“You do it for him. Why don’t you do it for yourself? Kill him and be done with it all.”
It took a moment for her words to make sense. “You mean, why haven’t I killed Sucre?”
“Yes.” Her eyes flashed as her fingers gripped his thigh. “If he were dead, you would be free.” Her lips thinned. “I’d do it myself if I could. I won’t lose another person I care about.”
She looked like she meant every word and he had to swallow the lump in his throat. “Taking somebody’s life puts a stain on your soul you can never get clean. I don’t ever want you to know how it feels.” He rested his worthless hand on top of hers. “You don’t know what it means to me you want to protect me. No one else ever has. I need you to hear me, though. You’ve got to stay far away from Sucre. Promise me, Livie. If he got his hands on you, both our lives would be over.”
“What kind of life do you have now? You act like he owns you, but you’
re strong. You’re powerful. Why don’t you crush him or at least run?” Olivia pulled her hand away and stomped to the kitchen. She put some ice in a towel, then yanked a glass-bottled drink out of the fridge and popped it open. It wasn’t until she returned, he could see the label. She’d brought out one of those fruity Hard Lemonade drinks. She handed him the ice, and he held it to his left eye.
“You didn’t promise.” Did she think he wouldn’t notice?
She took a long pull of her drink. “Fine. I promise.” She plopped back down on the sofa. “It’s not as though I would be able to kill someone anyway. Even if he does deserve it.”
“It’s not as simple as killing him.” He’d fantasized about it plenty, though. “If something happens to Sucre, someone will kill my grandmother. I’m not Sucre’s only muscle, you know. I’m the best, but the boss has made it very clear he has people in place to execute his final wishes. He sends me pictures of her almost every day to remind me. Once, he sent me a piece of her fucking nightgown. If I run, she dies. If I kill him, she dies. Otherwise, I’d have taken the sick fucker out years ago.”
The cold, hard pressure of the ice against his face sent sharp spikes of pain into his head, but he pushed down the discomfort. “I’ve done so much to keep her safe, I can’t give up now. It has to mean something. She’s comfortable now, but she’s still exposed. I can’t get her free until I save enough money to get her in a good facility, somewhere Sucre can’t get to her. My goal was fifty thousand. I always thought I’d go with her, start my life over somewhere. Now, with you—”
He sighed. “If I stay here, there needs to be enough money to take care of her the rest of her life. And I have to figure out which assholes at Magnolia Green are on Sucre’s payroll. If the wrong person tips him off I’m pulling her out, we’ll both be dead before we’re out of the city.”
The corners of her mouth drooped as she set her drink on the coffee table. “Do you have any happy memories? Has this man stolen your entire life from you?”
He set the ice in his lap, then used his palms to pick up the drink and take a sip. It tasted like almost pure corn syrup. Gross. He cringed as he put the ice back on his face. “I can’t blame him for every bad thing in my life. My dad was an addict. He would’ve been an addict whether Sucre was his dealer or it was some other guy on the street. Kids with a drugged-out parent always have it rough. There’s never enough money, never enough food.” He shrugged. “But there were some good times. Before my mom died, sometimes she’d sing to me or take me to the park. She worked a lot, but I loved her.”
He furrowed his brow, trying to grasp a memory. “One time, she bought me a little red toy racecar. I must have been about six or seven. I was so proud of that thing. I carried it everywhere.”
“Do you still have it?”
He shrugged. “My father stepped on it barefoot in the middle of the night once. Threw it against the wall. I should’ve put it somewhere safe.”
Olivia’s eyes were wet, but her tears didn’t fall. He was grateful for the small mercy. Her tears might break his heart in a way he’d successfully avoided for years.
She nestled back into his side, her hand resting over his heart. In minutes, her breathing shifted to the heavy rhythm of sleep. It was after two o’clock. The poor thing was exhausted.
Climbing to his feet, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to her room. The bed was a double; it would be a tight fit, but they could both squeeze in. He noticed the indention on the right side of the mattress, so he placed her there and climbed in beside her. He barely had to wait a second before she rolled up next to him, curled against his side.
He had never slept with anyone before. He’d had sex, sure, but he’d never spent the night in a woman’s bed.
As Olivia tangled her smooth legs with his and threw her arm across his waist, he was glad she’d be the first. Somehow, he suspected it wouldn’t be the same with anyone else.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Liv
Liv woke up Saturday morning in the pale light of dawn with a blazing heat against her back and an iron band around her waist. For a moment, she froze. Then Jonathan’s breath fanned in her ear. She recognized the crisp hair of his leg rubbing against hers, and his stone-hard arousal nestled against her ass.
She wiggled her backside, and he groaned.
“You’re teasing me on purpose.”
Laughing, she rolled over to see him. His face looked worse than it had been the night before. Bruises had time to fully bloom on his skin, and none of the swelling had gone down. She should have made him hold the ice on it longer. Biting her lip, she held her fingers over his cheek, but didn’t touch. “Does it hurt?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to be a badass every single second.”
Pulling himself to a sitting position, he revealed the pillowcase he’d slept on was now dotted with dried blood. “I’m sore, but I’m feeling better than I did last night.”
She ran her fingertips over his swollen face, but he didn’t flinch. “You ready to give the shower a try?” She slid out of the bed and walked around to his side. “Put your arm around my shoulder. We’ll do it together.”
Gritting his teeth, he did as she asked. Carefully, they moved into the small bathroom. Even a fraction of his weight on her shoulders felt like carrying a boulder.
He leaned against the door frame as she turned on the spray.
“Can I, um, help you with your shorts?” She gestured vaguely at the only clothes he had on his body.
He guarded his expression as he nodded, and averting her eyes, she gently eased them down. “You’re killing me, Livie,” he moaned.
Blushing hotly, she stood and forced her gaze to stay on his face. “Let me help you in.”
He didn’t move. “You’re keeping your clothes on?” He scowled. “Every time I’ve ever thought about showering with you, both of us were naked.”
She chuckled at the trace of whine in his voice. “Hush.” She wrapped her arm behind his back and pulled him toward the bathtub where the shower ran. He allowed her to help him inside and groaned when he stepped under the spray.
Even though she was in the shower with him, Liv stayed mostly dry. Jonathan’s big body blocked the water. She grabbed the soap and got to work, gently massaging the Dove bar into suds on his back, shoulders, and arms. His muscles slowly relaxed under her fingers.
“Turn around,” she whispered. Hard as she tried to prepare herself for the full-frontal view, she couldn’t help but suck in a breath when he faced her. She fought to keep her attention firmly above his waist. Remnants of the soap rinsing from his neck and back slid over his defined pecs and tangled in his chest hair.
She stepped closer, and his eyes flared as she began to lather his chest. Her hands slid over his nipples and up to his collarbone. The last time she’d seen him without a shirt stayed burned into her memory, and seeing him this way, without even the sweatpants he’d worn before, threatened to stop her heart. The man’s body was perfectly made. His shoulders were broad. His chest and torso sculpted like a statue.
Despite her resolve, her gaze slid down, and her soapy hand followed.
He had a trim waist, and a narrow line of hair dipped down, leading the way to what was now a thick, proud erection.
He shuddered as she took him in her hand. The skin of his cock was hot and smooth. The soap on her hands made the glide effortless, and she began to pump him.
He swayed on his feet and closed his eyes. “Livie,” he groaned, but he didn’t protest. Instead, he leaned his shoulder against the wall and let her have her way with his body.
God, she wanted to fuck him. With every encounter, the need to feel him inside her grew. It reached a fever pitch now, feeling the weight of him in her hand, knowing how he’d fill the aching void between her legs.
He’d recovered some since the night before, but he was still hurt. He couldn’t touch her; he could barely even mov
e his hands.
His pleasure would be her pleasure.
She tightened her hand and pumped harder. Faster.
Her own arousal was getting harder to ignore. She squeezed her thighs together involuntarily. Much more of this and she’d have to use her other hand on herself.
“Let me take care of you,” she whispered. Leaning forward, she ran her tongue along the pulse of his neck.
His body tensed against her, and he came with a shout.
Her hand relaxed, but she didn’t let him go until he pulled away. She felt breathless, needful. But there would be no help for it. She’d brought this on herself.
Laughing softly, she pulled back the shower curtain and stepped out. “I guess you can rinse the front now.”
***
Brick
As sluggish as he’d felt when he woke up, Brick was wide awake after his shower. His face still ached, and he still couldn’t close his fat fingers into a fist, but who the fuck cared when he could still feel Olivia’s fingers wrapped around his cock?
She changed her clothes while he shuffled to the sofa in a towel. He’d gotten jizz all over her pajamas, which he should probably feel guilty about, but he couldn’t regret what they’d just shared.
Olivia was already in a pair of soft shorts and a t-shirt heading toward him before he could sit down. “Wait. I’ve got some clothes for you.” He stopped his descent into the cushions and waited while she pulled a set of clothes from her small laundry room. “Do you need help getting dressed?”
She held a pair of his jeans, boxer briefs, and a t-shirt. They were all folded neatly.
How did she…oh, yeah. He’d left them in her dryer after the storm that night.
“I can do it.” He held out his hand, but when she offered the clothes out to him, he couldn’t get a grip. They tumbled to the floor.
Immediately, she knelt and scooped them up. “Let me help you, Jonathan.”
His name on her lips melted his insides every time. He braced his hand on her shoulder and stepped into the underwear she held open at his feet. Once she got them to his knees, he pulled them the rest of the way into place with his thumbs. “I don’t care about the clothes.”
