Arkham (Bones MC 5)

by Marteeka Karland

  The question seemed to throw her off guard. “What’s it matter?”

  “I’m not turnin’ you in to social services so don’t get no ideas.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t really know exactly. I was always small, so people thought I was young, but I’m pretty sure I’m older than most of the kids I grew up with.” When Arkham just raised his eyebrows, she blew one dark curl out of her eyes. “Best I can guess, I’m nineteen. Obviously, I could be wrong. I started counting when everyone thought I was six. Every summer on the Fourth of July, I count another year. So far, I’ve counted thirteen years.”

  “OK then.” That seemed a mundane way of putting it, but Arkham thought that at least he didn’t feel too much like a pervert anymore. If she was nineteen, she wasn’t chronologically a child. Mentally, she had obviously grown up a very long time ago under tough circumstances.

  God, this wasn’t good. If he were anything other than the bastard he knew himself to be, he’d take her to Cain and turn her over to him. He’d stay the hell away from her before he did something he couldn’t take back. Like make her his.

  The thought came out of nowhere. Never in his adult life had Arkham contemplated keeping a woman. Naturally, he took his pleasure from willing women whenever he needed to, but they always knew the score. He wasn’t the type of man one settled down with. Wouldn’t know how to do it if he were so inclined.

  Yeah. He needed to keep his distance.

  “You hungry?”

  Shrug.

  “Rain, what did I tell you about answering my questions?”

  “Fine,” she snapped. “Yes. I’m hungry. I’m used to it so don’t feel like you have to feed me. I can look after myself.”

  “We’re in a fuckin’ mansion, Rain. These guys have anything and everything and it don’t cost you nothin’. Now, what do you want?”

  Her eyes went wide for just that split second before she could get herself under control, schooling her expression. “They got a menu?”

  “Yeah. Your brain.” He was getting a little exasperated with her. “What the fuck do you want to eat, Rain?”

  She lifted her chin as if to say, “Challenge accepted. Fucker.”

  “I want steak and eggs. Eggs over light, steak medium. Toast with butter and grape jelly. Then I want chocolate cake with cream cheese icing. A tall, ice-cold glass of milk to drink.”

  He nodded. “Go take a shower while you’re waiting,” he ordered.

  She shrugged then found her way to the bathroom. Arkham called the number Azriel had given them for the kitchen. Once he’d called in her order, he made another call to their estate manager, Ruth McDonald. The older woman ran a tight ship, to say the least. She’d made it clear they were to call her if they needed anything. He didn’t need anything, but Rain did.

  She wore tattered blue jeans that looked a size or two too large and an oversized sweatshirt that had seen better days. While she smelled clean, her clothing was rough and stained in several places. Not to mention it was fucking cold out. The girl needed warm clothes and a good coat. And footwear. And gloves and a scarf, and…

  Fuck it. He just ordered her a new wardrobe. Mrs. McDonald was upbeat about it, sounding excited and happy. Apparently, the woman loved this sort of thing. Which was good because Arkham was determined to get Rain everything she needed. When she asked Rain’s size, Arkham was at a loss.

  “Never mind. I’ll have Giovanni check his cameras. He can give me measurements enough to get close.”

  Instead of voicing just how much that freaked him the fuck out, Arkham simply thanked the woman and hung up.

  As he approached the bathroom, he heard Rain singing decidedly off key in the shower. With a shrug, Arkham broke the bathroom lock and found her clothes. She’d lain them neatly on the sink and had attempted to scrub the worst of the stains from the sweatshirt. The hair dryer lay beside it as if she prepared to use it both on her hair and her clothes. Arkham snagged the garments and left her one of his T-shirts and a pair of gym shorts. Both too big, but they would do until Mrs. McDonald could bring the stuff he’d ordered that afternoon. Satisfied she’d be appropriately pissed off, Arkham smirked and closed the door.

  * * *

  “Fuckin’ bastard! Bring back my fuckin’ clothes!”

  Arkham nearly smiled in contentment. The sound of an exotic woman so supremely pissed off was like beautiful music.

  “You have clothes,” he called back. “I know because I left them right where your others were.”

  “Asshole!”

  “Just put ‘em on and get in here and eat while it’s hot.”

  There was a pause. “Eat?”

  “You said you wanted steak and eggs. Right?”

  There was a moment of silence followed by a couple of thumps, a muttered “fuck” and the door to the bathroom being jerked opened. Rain hurried to the main room, her nose in the air as if following her it to the source of the food. The second she spotted the silver-domed tray, her eyes locked on it. She practically sprinted to the table and tore off the lid. Her lips parted in a gasp.

  On the tray was the biggest slab of ribeye Arkham had ever seen along with what had to be a dozen eggs cooked just the way she asked. Several pieces of heavily buttered toast lay in a separate plate, and an unopened jar of some kind of imported grape jelly sat next to it. In large bucket of ice, two large glasses of milk sat chilling, just waiting for her to consume them at her leisure.

  “Holy fuck,” she whispered in awe. Then dug in.

  In his lifetime, Arkham had been to places where people hadn’t eaten anything in days other than soup made from grasses and various other types of foliage. Feeding those people had been one of the few things he’d ever done that had given him pride in being a soldier. A man. It had made him feel like he contributed to the life of someone else. Even those starving people had never made such a show of eating a meal as Rain did now.

  Each bite she took, she closed her eyes in bliss, chewing slowly as if to savor each bite. Juice from the steak and even yolk from the eggs ran down her chin unchecked. It was soon followed by butter and milk, but she didn’t seem to notice. The sounds she made were just shy of orgasmic. Her utter enjoyment of the meal fascinated him to the point of distraction. He couldn’t have taken his gaze from her if his life depended on it.

  It took her forty-five minutes to finish the meal -- and she ate every fucking bite. As she drank the last of the milk, he noticed her looking around as if scouting for more.

  “You can’t possibly still be hungry.”

  She glanced at him sharply, as if she’d forgotten he was there. That assumption was confirmed when she hastily grabbed a napkin and wiped her mouth and chin, then looked down at his white T-shirt now stained with grease, eggs, butter, jelly, and milk.

  “Shit,” she muttered.

  “Go clean up. I’ll get you another T-shirt, then we need to get some sleep. You’re going to need to be on your toes when Cain and Azriel question you.”

  “Am I in danger?”

  He shrugged. “Only if you lie or if you were trying to kill my team.”

  “You know I wasn’t.” Her little indignant face looked furious, her chin jutting stubbornly.

  “No, I don’t know. But my gut says you weren’t. That’s enough for me, but not enough for Cain. Azriel… Who the fuck knows?”

  With a sigh, Rain headed back to the bathroom, whipping her shirt off as she went. Though her back was to him, his gaze riveted to her form. That sleek back rippled with fine muscle, but the delicate skin over her back and shoulders was crisscrossed with scars both old and new. When she jumped, whipping her head around to look at him and wrapping her arms over her chest, Arkham realized he was growling.

  “What the fuck is this?” he snapped. Arkham could hear the unadulterated fury in his voice but couldn’t seem to get a rein on it. There was something dangerous inside him. Always had been. He’d known it since he was a child when he’d watched his younger brother die from leukemia and h
e’d been helpless to do anything more to help him. He’d known it when he’d slaughtered a platoon of enemy soldiers after they’d killed two men in his own platoon. Never had the deadly fury clawing to get out been as strong inside him as it was in this moment. Seeing marks of violence on this woman that spanned her lifetime threatened to push him over the edge into the realm of criminally insane.

  “What?” Her gaze darted around the room, looking for danger. He knew because he did the same thing himself when off balance.

  “Your back.” He reached her, gripping her shoulders and sinking down to one knee. Without thought, he yanked her shorts down to her thighs, her startled yelp loud in the silence.

  “What the fuck are you doing, you son of a bitch?” Her outrage was drowned out by the roaring in his ears. His vision tunneled so that he saw only her. Only the marks all over her lithe body.

  He didn’t say a word, but spun her around. She kicked out at him, lowering her arms from her chest to strike out with her fists, but Arkham blocked her easily before finally catching her wrists and forcing them behind her back. He held them firmly in place in one of his big hands despite her struggles. When she kicked out at him again, he blocked her leg again, still unable to form words.

  Finally, she settled, and Arkham examined her body closely. He’d vaguely noticed scars on her arms, but he had scars too. Previously, he’d judged her a warrior so he’d given it little thought. All warriors had scars. Especially on their limbs where they’d defended themselves or caught an edge while striking. Some had scars on their chest where a blow got through, and even fewer had scars on their backs, though most of those were bullets. This girl had thin scars from knife slices and rounded burn scars all over her back. Probably where someone had put out cigarettes and cigars on her skin. A few on her torso and limbs, but mostly her back. She’d been tortured.

  “What the fuckin’ Goddamned fuck?”

  “Let me go.” Her voice was steady but angry.

  “Not until you tell me what happened.” And, more importantly, who he needed to kill.

  “Price of growing up on the streets.”

  There was a long silence while the two of them locked gazes. Arkham swore she was fighting him, daring him to either blame her for not fighting harder or shrug her off. He could do neither. She’d confessed to being raised on the streets, in basically gangs of children, from the time she could remember. No doubt there were kids -- or adults -- bigger, stronger, and more experienced, who’d taken advantage of her or, as her body told him, tortured her for various reasons. Probably for their own sadistic pleasure. Did he really want her to tell him? Did he really want to know? If he did, could he handle it? The answer to both was a resounding “no.” He didn’t want her to relive it because he knew he couldn’t handle it. And if he couldn’t handle it, he damned sure couldn’t expect her to handle it.

  “Never again, Rain,” he finally ground out. His voice was rough in his rage. He knew he sounded more animal than man in that moment. “You’re never going back.”

  “It’s over now,” she said, no emotion in her voice or on her face. “I paid my dues and learned from my mistakes. I’m strong and intelligent. No one hurts me now. No one.”

  With that, she kicked out. When he blocked her -- as she’d obviously expected -- she spun around, breaking his hold on her and snapping her heel into the side of his jaw.

  Arkham saw stars. It was also enough to dull the raging fury threatening to take hold on his mind. He lunged for her, but she kicked his arm, deadening his hand in the process. She’d known exactly what part of his arm to hit to create just that sensation. Arkham was sure of it. There was deadly cunning in her gaze as she fought him naked as the day she was born.

  Instead of running when she had the advantage, she attacked, leaping into the air and bringing her fist down to connect with his jaw again. Only he managed to catch her fist in his other hand. Again, it seemed to be what she was expecting because she twisted her body around to land on his back, the arm he’d caught wrapped tightly around his throat, her legs squeezing his torso with all her considerable strength. Fortunately for him, her legs were too short to lock tightly enough to give her the leverage she needed to constrict his breathing.

  He could have tossed her off. Could have really hurt her if he’d wanted. Instead, he just sat there, letting her do her best to strangle him. When she realized she wasn’t doing any good but that he wasn’t going to fight back, she relaxed her hold and climbed off him.

  Once she had, Arkham stood and turned around slowly. She stood before him crouched and ready to spring should she need to, but made no move toward either him or the door.

  “What do you want from me?” Her question was angry, demanding.

  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I do know I’m not sending you back to the slums. You’ll either stay here with the Shadow Demons and the rest of their household, or you’ll come back with Bones. Either way, you’ll be safe. You can build a life for yourself.”

  “And how do you propose I do that?” she scoffed. “I’m smart but I ain’t got no education. No skills other than fighting. I can barely read and only words I recognize. Some life I’d have. I’d be back on the streets within a month and worse off because everyone would know I’d tried and failed.”

  “Decision made then. You’re comin’ with Bones.”

  “Fuck you, Arkham!”

  “No. Not yet anyway.” He pointed to the bathroom. “Clean up. I’ll get you another shirt.” He bent and picked up her shorts, tossing them to her as she passed him. Again, she didn’t cover herself. The only time she had was when she’d first realized there’d been a problem. He’d startled her, probably because she’d been growing comfortable with him. Now that she’d firmly placed him in the category of either enemy or crazy son of a bitch, she didn’t cover herself. Arkham was certain it wasn’t because she was trying to seduce him or that she was particularly comfortable with her nudity. No. It was because she was more concerned with being able to defend herself than she was about her modesty. Scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck and then his face, he stormed off to get her another shirt.

  Chapter Four

  Sleep wasn’t Arkham’s friend. Never had been. Now, with a young woman in his bed and him on the couch the damned stuff proved doubly elusive. She was an enigma he couldn’t figure out but desperately wanted to. He’d always been over-the-top protective. It was what had gotten him in trouble in the Marines. He’d thought he was learning to control it when his young cousin, Pig, had gotten the shit beat out of him by Stunner, one of the youngest patched members of bones. The kid had deserved it, but he was still family. Arkham had stood over him after Stunner had been pulled off by Mama and Pops and thought only that the little fucker should have gotten more. Or, at least, Stunner should have drawn it out a little so Pig had suffered more. That protective instinct had lain dormant within him. Arkham had thought he’d finally defeated it. Now he knew better.

  Sighing, he sat up on the couch just outside his room where Rain lay, presumably sound asleep. He hadn’t positioned himself so much to keep her from running but to satisfy himself that she was safe. That no one could get to her without going through him. After debating with himself as to whether or not he would go check on her, he finally lost and walked to her door.

  It was locked, as he’d expected it would be. Fortunately he had no problem breaking or picking the lock. Three minutes later, he opened the door and stepped inside. His eyes went unerringly to the bed. The empty bed. Rain was nowhere to be seen.

  Taking a few deep breaths, Arkham fought down an unexpected and unfamiliar surge of panic. There were no windows in the room so she couldn’t have escaped that way. She hadn’t left the bedroom. He’d have known. That meant she had to be in the room somewhere.

  He stood there until his heart rate slowed and he felt better in control of himself. Then he started a methodical search of the room. He found her under the bed in the far corner, curled up on
several blankets and a pillow.

  Arkham cleared his throat. Rain’s eyes snapped open and she gasped in surprise.

  When he said nothing more, she tugged her blanket higher and continued to stare at him. He jerked his chin at her, indicating she should get out from under the bed. She did nothing for a moment, then sighed and did as he asked, bringing her blankets with her.

  “I feel safe with something at my back and when I’m out of direct sight.”

  “Understood.” Arkham moved to the bed and pushed, shoving the big thing flush against the wall, solidly in the corner. Then he motioned for her to climb in. She did, reluctantly, protesting when he climbed in with her. Arkham ignored her, facing away from her but putting his back solidly against her. “We’ve got about three or four hours before Cain calls us. Get some sleep.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Putting myself between you and the outside. Anyone wants to get you, they have to go through me. Was like that anyhow, but now you’ve got a more solid idea I mean what I say.”

  “Yeah? Who protects me from you?”

  “I have a feelin’ you can take care of yourself in that regard.”

  She rolled her eyes at him, but settled under her blanket with a sigh, then didn’t move. For about thirty minutes, neither of them did. Then Rain inched closer to him. Arkham didn’t dare breathe. Especially when she rolled over and tucked herself into his back. Her mouth was in the middle of his shoulder blades. He could feel her warm breath through his shirt. Her body pressed tightly against him as if for warmth.

  “You cold?” His question was soft, near a whisper. She didn’t answer but snuggled closer. Carefully, Arkham turned over. He wasn’t sure what to do, but she mumbled in her sleep then turned over, putting her back to his chest. After several seconds, she mumbled again, patting around until she found her blanket then tugged it higher. Still, that didn’t seem to satisfy her. Rain mumbled again, this time shivering as she pressed herself still further against him. He would have smiled except her ass found his groin and pressed itself tightly into his body. There was no way to prevent or diminish the growing erection pressing against her ass. She’d be pissed when she woke, but really, none of this was his fault.