by Eve Langlais
His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. He feared ripping it off in his rage. He took a deep breath and told himself to calm the fuck down. “In all the commotion, I just realized I never gave you my name. I’m Stavros. Stavros Georgopoulos. And you said your name was…”
“Becka.”
He didn’t push for a surname. Not yet. But he would find out. His curiosity wouldn’t let him do anything less.
“Hello, Becka. Now, care to explain to me what’s been happening with you? I get the impression you escaped a rather ugly situation.”
“Very ugly. Which is why you shouldn’t get involved.”
“What did I tell you about trusting me?”
“I don’t know you.”
“Isn’t that how all friendships start?” He shot her a smile, a meant-to-be-reassuring smile.
Instead, it made her frown. “I’m not looking for a friend.”
“And yet you seem in dire need of one.”
“If you want to be my friend, then how about telling me something about yourself, such as why you aren’t a cop anymore? Were you a bad cop?”
“Actually, I was a very good detective. But I did a naughty thing. Actually, it was a yummy thing. I saved some marijuana slated for destruction and made some brownies with it. Someone ratted me out.”
“You do drugs?”
He didn’t consider pot much of a drug, at least the unmodified stuff. How to explain too that most drugs didn’t affect him like they did humans? He said neither of those things but instead pushed for answers of his own. “That seems kind of the pot calling the kettle black, given the holes in your arms.” They didn’t quite look like needle marks, but no mistaking the punctures in her flesh and the bruising around them.
She crossed her arms. “It’s not what you think.”
“How do you know what I think?”
“I’m not a junkie.”
“Then what are they from? Is someone sticking you with needles?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
Before she could reply, his phone rang, and the number was one he couldn’t ignore. “Give me a second while I answer this.” Since his car didn’t have the bells and whistles of the modern ones, he had to answer it and hold the phone to his ear.
“Jenkins, did you find the present I left you?”
“If you mean the cuffs in the alley, then yeah, but whoever busted out of them was long gone.”
“No fucking way.” Too late he wondered if he should have curbed the expletive, but a quick glance at his passenger showed her looking out the window doing a shit job of pretending she wasn’t listening in.
“I don’t suppose he was about six and a half feet, built like a barrel, wearing a leather jacket and a goatee?” Jenkins asked.
“That’s the guy I tangoed with. What’s he wanted for?”
“Questioning for the moment. Seems he was involved in an altercation at a hotel. Some guys tried to bust him up. Him and some girl.” A girl? Stavros tried not to react and tucked the phone onto his opposite ear.
“What are witnesses saying so far?”
“We’re still taking statements, so I haven’t had time to really sift through the reports, but indications are a few guys dressed in motocross gear and packing heat showed up at a hotel room. A brawl ensued. We’ve got at least one dead body and a few others injured. Plus the girl is missing. It’s a fucking nightmare, especially since it turns out none of the cameras in that hotel recorded a damned thing and no one is saying shit.”
“They were all broken?”
“Nope. Everything looked just peachy until the hotel went to pull the video files. The drives are corrupt. Not a single one of them has anything usable thus far. But that could change. We’re going to let the forensics geeks play with it and see if they can pull something out of the drives.”
“You said there were some guys dressed in biker gear. Who were they? And who is the girl?” He knew Becka could hear him ask, but Stavros needed more info, and since his old partner seemed loquacious, best get as much info as he could now, before things got locked down.
“No idea. They disappeared along with your fellow in the alley and the woman. Speaking of woman, you didn’t happen to see one, did you? Hotel clerk says he saw her running out of the place looking terrified. About five foot five, not scrawny but not chubby either. Shoulder-length blond hair. No idea about the eyes, but you’d notice her. She apparently looked a little beaten up and wasn’t wearing any shoes.”
“Nope, haven’t seen her.” He lied, and he knew she noticed because she stiffened.
“Well, if you do, let me know. She’s a person of interest.”
Damned straight she was. His interest. His business. He hung up with his old partner and for a moment silence stretched in the car.
He waited.
Waited some more.
“What are you going to do with me?” Asked so softly, so hesitantly.
His usual reply to a woman would be, “I want to do dirty things with you.” Yet, quite honestly, this shell of a woman, hunched in on herself, bloodied, bruised, and so obviously frightened, didn’t evoke any lust. How could she? She was a wounded creature, one that needed a safe place to lick her wounds. Lucky for her, he knew just the spot.
CHAPTER 5
“This is your apartment?” The fact that she’d even agreed to come here with him was a measure of her desperation, but for the first time in a long time Becka felt oddly safe. Surprising given what had happened at the hotel.
Who were those people attacking? Why were they after her? Did someone want to get back at him?
Whoever they were, they didn’t mind getting their hands dirty and didn’t fear the police. People were dead. Stavros had taken the news on the phone rather well, and yes, she’d eavesdropped. She couldn’t ignore it when she knew it concerned her.
“What’s wrong with my apartment?” he asked.
“I didn’t say anything was wrong.”
“Says the girl with the scrunched-up nose.”
“It’s just not what I expected.” She’d expected to walk into a guy’s place, the type with a big-screen television, game systems, chrome, and leather. It’s what he and his cronies preferred. A décor meant for single guys.
This place bore a woman’s touch, or so the flowered cushions on the sofa and the colorful vista paintings on the walls indicated. And what of the vase with real flowers in it?
It could mean one of two things. “Are you married?” she asked.
“Good God no. Very much single. For now.” Said with a grumble.
“Oh, then you’re gay.”
“Excuse me?” he exclaimed.
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t very politically correct of me. What is the proper term I should use?” Because she was pretty sure the vulgar word he used would be met with even more objection.
“I meant I’m not gay. The décor you see isn’t my idea. Remember those meddling sisters I told you about?” He waved a hand. “Apparently, this is all part of making me look attractive to a possible mate. What do you think? Would you be more likely to date a guy who has needlepoint pillows?” He held one up with a cute bear wearing a bow tie lying on its back holding its toes.
“I think it’s nice you’re close to your sisters. I always wanted a family growing up.” But for as long as she could remember, it was just her and Poppa.
“Remember that sentiment when my sisters kidnap you.”
“Kidnap me for what?”
“Assimilation into their ranks. Before you can blink, they’ll have you in an apron, popping out cookies and babies.”
“Babies?” Her heart fluttered. How long since she’d last dared imagine a life that involved home and hearth with children? That happily ever after was never going to happen. Not so long as he was around.
“Forget I said that word. Anyhow, you can have the bedroom while we figure things out for you. I’ll take the couch.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You will. So don’t bother arguing.”
However, she wanted to argue. It didn’t seem right that she got the bedroom while he was forced to scrunch up on the couch. But how to argue with a man so determined?
In short order he had her in the bathroom with a T-shirt of his and instructions to cleanse herself. No point in protesting. She needed a shower. Just look at her feet. Filthy and sporting a few cuts, the pavement not very kind. He’d offered to carry her, but she’d refused, claiming they would look suspicious. He didn’t like her reply but acquiesced. One of the few times he did, and it didn’t stop him from glaring at her feet and asking every couple of paces if she was sure she didn’t want to be carried. By the sixth time, she wanted to throttle him. Yet his very determination to do right by her eased her feelings about him.
A part of her hyperventilated at the thought of trusting someone, especially a man, but another part of her understood that most people were inherently decent. She just needed the strength to believe in it again.
Going to his apartment was another one of those faith things. She would have preferred a motel. However, he was right about one thing. She wouldn’t get far without identification and money. Her escape would fail from stupidity if she refused the kindness he offered.
He used to be a cop. Surely he knows some people who can help me start a new life. As to how she’d make money to support herself? There weren’t a lot of options for a girl down on her luck. Waitressing would take a while to build cash, as would most jobs. Which sucked. She was a girl who’d finished college and worked these past few years as a medical secretary. A great job, but not one she could claim without her papers, papers in her name. If she used her name, though, he would find her.
So what did that leave for a girl to make a few quick bucks? A friend of hers in college had said she made great money stripping. However, Becka doubted she could stand a roomful of men staring at her, ogling her with their eyes, trying to touch. Shudder.
I can barely stand to look at myself.
She stripped out of her clothes, dropping the soiled garments to the floor. The shower proved delightful, loosening some of the tight muscles in her shoulders, making her gasp as the liquid burned at her cuts and reminded her of the bruising.
Once clean, she stepped from the shower and reached for a towel, only to have her gaze caught by her reflection. That can’t be me. She gasped as she turned around and beheld her body. Her poor abused body.
She’d not seen it this way in a long time. There weren’t any mirrors in the places he held her. He didn’t like them. She took a step closer to the mirror, forgoing the towel.
The pattern of bruises was in different stages, painful to receive and painful to behold, but she refused to cry. Crying gave him power over her. Instead, she squinted her eyes and noticed the motley shadow over her ribs looked like a winged bunny rabbit. The one on her upper thigh, a vortex.
Some people found patterns in clouds; she found them on her body. The bruises would eventually fade. They always did until a new rage came on. Usually brought on by her defying him.
You’d think I’d have learned my lesson by now.
However, submission didn’t come easily. A fear of pain didn’t entirely quell her spirit. Although he did his best. Gave it the old college try. Bastard. A bastard who no longer had her because she’d gotten away from him, for the moment at least. The third time she’d managed to escape by her count but not yet a record attempt, given her longest breakout had lasted about thirty-six hours. Then he’d literally dragged her back.
It took her a while to rise from that beating. But at least he had hit her only with his fists and words. It could have been worse.
One day karma will get him. She hoped she could help that day when it came time to give that bastard the boot.
Stop thinking about him. She shouldn’t give that asshole any more of her time. She should think nice thoughts.
What about her rescuer? If she were to judge him thus far, then she’d say he didn’t seem like the kind of dick who would hurt a woman. Especially not given his obvious affection for female members of his family. It reminded her of the type of bond she’d shared with her poppa. Rest his sweet soul. I will avenge you someday. She’d tried once already, but the butter knife hadn’t worked all too well and after that she mostly got to eat with a spoon.
Thank goodness for her memories of Poppa, a dear sweet old man who’d taken her in after her mother died. His oftentimes sarcastic love reminded Becka that all men weren’t like him.
They say pain makes you stronger. Then she must be the strongest bitch around. She flexed for the mirror and almost laughed at herself. Almost. Hard to laugh at the broken woman in the reflection. Instead, a snort emerged, a loud ugly thing that was almost a sob, and the first tears rolled down her cheeks.
I’m not strong.
She was, however, very naked and thus screamed when the door bounced open and a wild-eyed Stavros leaped in, fists raised.
She cringed, dropping to the floor in a protective huddle, hugging herself.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“N-nothing.” Stuttered through hitching sobs. So much for bravery.
She heard more than saw him dropping to his haunches before her.
“Don’t say nothing. You’re crying. Are you hurt? How can I help you? Please let me help you.” He didn’t touch her physically, and yet his words ghosted over her skin, pimpling it.
“N-no one can help me. I shouldn’t be here.”
“If you ask me, you’re exactly where you need to be. You’re safe, sweetheart.” A towel dropped over her shoulders, huge and fluffy. “He can’t get you here.”
She clutched the ends of the fabric, unable to chase the chill inside. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t understand who you’re dealing with.”
“Then tell me. Help me understand. Who is this fucker that has you terrified? Give me his name, and I will teach him a lesson he’ll never forget.”
Stavros alone against him and his posse? “I won’t tell you because you can’t confront him. Ever. You don’t understand what he’s capable of.”
“I have a pretty good idea.” A wry reply. “And you seem to underestimate what I’m capable of. I’m a big bear when riled.”
More like a teddy bear. He seemed much too nice to deal with the kind of evil in her life. “You’ll get hurt.”
“I think I just felt my balls shrivel up and die.”
“This isn’t funny.” Even if she almost snorted. Her head lifted, and she noted he crouched before her, his brown eyes calm and steady. “Those guys I ran from won’t hesitate to hurt you. You heard what happened back there. People were killed.”
“Which is all the more reason why I should go after them. I can handle myself pretty good in a fight, sweetheart. And by the time I’m done with him, he’ll wish his mother had a headache the night he was conceived.”
Such brash confidence, but she knew better. “I’m so tired of being afraid.”
He placed his hand over hers, a light touch, and yet she still trembled, not entirely in fear. There was something warm and reassuring about the skin-to-skin contact. Something warm and nice about him in general.
His eyes were locked on hers, his expression utterly serious, when he said, “I will be your shield. Let me protect you.”
CHAPTER 6
Let me protect you. Did he seriously fucking say that? What next? Would he start singing “Lean on Me” off-key? He was a man. With balls. At least he still hoped he had some, or had finding his mate make them shrivel into oblivion? He jumped to his feet and pivoted before giving them a good grab to check on their status.
Balls? Check. One thing taken care of. Now for the other issue. The woman on the floor.
Mate.
I don’t need to hear from you, he practically snarled at his bear.
M-a-a-a-a-a-a-te. Damned beast had a sense of humor.
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br /> So did Stavros. Don’t make me get the Yogi bow tie. Because his furry half did so hate it when Stavros put on the metal band that proved impossible to rip off and sported a lovely welded green bow tie.
Meanie. His bear sulked, which meant Stavros could maybe now concentrate on Becka without his bear giving him inappropriate ideas. Even if inappropriate ideas are usually so much fun.
He paced the length of the bathroom.
“You seem agitated,” she finally remarked, a hint of trepidation in her tone.
“Of course I’m agitated.”
“Because of me.” She sighed. “I’m sorry.”
He whirled and fixed her with a wagging finger. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t you dare apologize. This is not your fault. Well, it is, but not for the reason you think. And you could never guess why because you’re human. A cute human who is now looking at me like I’m nuts. You wouldn’t be far from wrong.” His little speech and wry attempt at a smile only served to widen her eyes to the point that he feared her orbs would fall out.
“Are you due for some medication?” She hugged the towel tighter around her frame.
“No. But I can see why you’d think it. This probably seems crazy to you. But I am not nuts, and I don’t use medicine of any kind. Constitution of a bear.” He thumped his chest.
“Isn’t the expression ‘horse’?” she asked, still watching him with wide eyes, but he noted they seemed mostly curious now.
“In my house, according to my mother, it’s ‘bear.’ Just like, according to her, honey fixes everything.”
“Let me guess. She read you Winnie-the-Pooh as a child.”
He recoiled, utterly aghast. “Good God no. My mother read us The Three Bears and Grizzly Adams, although, in the version we got, the bears ate the humans. And in The Three Little Pigs—”
“Let me guess. The bear huffed and puffed at the houses?”
“No. It’s The Three Little Bears and the bears ate the wolf.”
“Why does it feel like I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole?”
“Because you’re tired. It’s been a long day for you. You need some rest.” He offered her a hand to help her off the floor.