No Saint

by Jo Raven

  “Motherfucker,” I hiss.

  “Whassamater, boy?” Old Ben asks me, laughter in his voice. “Gonna cry? Call for your mommy?”

  “Fuck you, you ancient wreck,” I mutter, assessing the damage to my body. I seem to be in one piece. I carefully sit up and groan, putting a hand to the back of my head and staring at the few drops of blood speckling my fingers. “Didn’t think you so stupid to fall in with the likes of Alan James.”

  “Oh, because you’re so much better, Ross Jones?” he cackles and turns away, heading toward the construction area.

  “Like the pot calling the kettle black,” I hear Luna’s voice saying in my head.

  Sometimes I forget this whole goddamn town has it out for me. It’s Luna’s fault.

  She makes me forget the bad.

  Nobody gives me a hand up, not that I expected it. My back’s bruised to hell, and my head is throbbing in time to my pounding heart, but otherwise I’m just fine.

  What the fuck... that wasn’t an accident, was it? And thinking back at the string of near misses I’ve had in the past weeks, I’m starting to wonder if someone hasn’t decided to help me take that little last step in my downward spiral and end it all.

  Hell’s balls.

  I’m just talking out of my ass, of course. Maybe that’s all they were: near misses, near accidents because my head’s not on straight. But the doubt is there, a worm eating its way through my thoughts.

  Vowing to myself to be more careful from now on, I carry on with work. More careful because of Luna, for the chance to hold her in my arms tonight, kiss her lips, bury myself inside her. Erase the world, the past and the future, keeping the present like the precious damn fragile thing that it is.

  ***

  Superintendent Asshole’s on my case again, claiming I’m slacking, and I’m of a mind to deck him just to shut him up. I’ve been working my damn ass off, keeping an eye for any loose rubble, spilled oil or loosened scaffolds, and it’s taking all my concentration to keep all the balls in the air without the bastard yelling in my ear about being lazy.

  Muttering under my breath about where he can shove his lame ass-chewing, I grab my pack of smokes and stalk out of the site, because I have the right to a break, dammit, and I’m taking it. Fuck that guy.

  I almost drop it when my phone chimes again, and I grunt, starting to get pissed. I prepare to lay in on my half-brother, I pull out the phone.

  But it’s from Luna.

  And I can’t fucking help the way my heart jolts and my mouth smiles.

  ‘Sorry I vanished’ she writes and my smile widens. ‘My aunt’s here to visit. She’s leaving tomorrow.’

  I wait but she doesn’t say anything else and I curse myself as I impatiently start typing back, to ask if she’ll meet me, come over tonight, be...

  Be there.

  My fingers freeze on the phone screen. Shit. It keeps happening when it comes to her—my every last defense crumbling before I know it, leaving me exposed. It’s never happened to me before.

  What I feel for this girl has knocked me on my ass, that strange, unnamed feeling, so huge it punches my breath out sometimes. It’s like a dragon, blowing fire through my veins, gripping my chest in its claws. I’m afraid to poke it in case it bites my damn head off.

  Yeah, not touching it with a ten-foot pole.

  Thankfully she shoots me another text before I drive myself nuts, and I let out a relieved breath when I read it.

  ‘Your place tonight?’

  I chuckle, rub a hand over my face, kinda amazed that I didn’t manage to chase her away with my erratic behavior and asshole-y moments.

  ‘Wear something sexy,’ I write back and turn back to the site, ready to take whatever the superintendent or any other son of a bitch wants to dish out on my plate today. There’s a weight off my chest I hadn’t realized was crushing me, and now it’s gone.

  I’m gonna see my girl tonight.

  ***

  Of course my good mood is a magnet for trouble. Good things usually are, getting life ideas on how to trick you and then kick your ass.

  So of course I’m intercepted on the way home—to the house, dammit, not my home, never—by Ed and his usual band of psychos.

  Fred and Crichton are with them, I note with distant interest, and wait, is that Jenner hanging back, watching us?

  “I’m honored,” I spit out. “Looks like the whole damn town showed up for the party. Has anyone brought drinks?”

  “Told ya, Ross. You’re either with us or against us.”

  “And as I recall, I told you to fuck off.”

  I let my hands hang at my sides, clenching my fists and glancing around, marking the spot of each and every guy, trying to figure out the best way to fight them off.

  Edward comes at me, shoves me back, and I swing at him. I land a glancing blow on his jaw, and then he’s on me, his buddies following him, hitting me everywhere. I have a flash of worry—wondering if they have knives this time, if the pain I feel means I’m bleeding out and haven’t realized—but by the time I manage to shake Ed and two others off me, the crowd seems to be thinning.

  ‘What, leaving so soon?” I croak, wiping blood from a cut on my lip.

  What the fuck?

  And then I register the police car, rolling silently down the road, a familiar face behind the wheel.

  Detective John Elba.

  Fucking hell.

  Suddenly everyone has scattered and I’m the only one left lying in the dirt, tasting dust and rust behind my teeth. I start getting up, groaning when the world swims in my eyes before settling again.

  Just another fucking day in the life.

  The car stops, and Elba who’s riding shotgun leans out of the window, short-sleeved shirt immaculate, black hair swept back.

  “What’s going on here?” he drawls, dark eyes assessing me, then dismissing me and checking the road. I look, too, and find everyone’s gone.

  Fuckers. “Look, Detective—”

  “Lying down in the middle of the street is not advised, Mr. Jones. Cars pass by on occasion and may not notice you. You could be run over.”

  I blink and open my mouth to reply—though, what could I say that won’t implicate me in yet another fight that could send me to jail?

  “Well, now that is cleared...” Elba turns to tell his colleague who’s riding shotgun, a severe-faced woman with a bob of blond hair. “Nothing to see here, huh? False alarm.”

  I gape at him, my jaw hanging to the floor. The sheriff would jump on the chance to lock me up again, so why does Elba act like a ret— I mean, a dimwit?

  Shaking myself, I gather my legs and climb to my feet, licking the metallic taste of blood off my lips, wiping it off my chin, when Elba leans further out of the window and nods at me.

  “If you need help in an emergency... any emergency, Mr. Jones... you ask for me by name, okay?”

  I stop and stare because, honestly, I can’t think of an answer. Is he for real? He’s offering me help if I ever get into trouble? Should I trust this? Trust him? He’s a fucking cop. No cop has ever given me the time of day, or any reason to trust them, until now.

  “Why?” I finally ask.

  “Oh, been meaning to tell you. What happened was, Matt Hansen came to see me a couple of times over the years. Told me to keep an eye on you.”

  “But I haven’t done anything.”

  “I know. I think he feels bad that he accused you wrongly that time of the kidnappings, ya know? Said you’re an okay guy, and family of his wife’s, too, and to look out for you.”

  “He said that?” The man hates me. I don’t get it. Unless Merc and Octavia put him up to it... yeah, I could see them strong-arming him somehow into asking this favor of Elba.

  “He said that, Mr. Jones,” John Elba confirms, grins at me like we’re sharing a joke I don’t know about, and taps the side of the car. “Be seeing ya.”

  The car rolls away and I’m still staring.

  Well, fuck. That was weird.<
br />
  Turning, I shove a hand through my hair, dislodging dirt clumps and fuck knows what else, and come face to face with Jenner.

  “Whoa!” I take a step back before I crash into him, and have a surreal moment like a déjà vu from a nightmare thinking I was about to walk into my distorted reflection. “Watch where’re you going, man.”

  “I called the cops.”

  “Say what? You fucking serious?”

  “I saw the guys gathered here, waiting for you. I saved your ass. Me and you, buddy,” Jenner says, smirking. “Me and you.”

  “Son of a bitch. If anyone else except Elba had turned up, I’d be in jail right now.”

  He frowns. “I only wanted to help.”

  “I don’t need your goddamn help. Stay out of my way.”

  “Look, Ross... these guys wanna hurt you.”

  “What gave them away, huh?” I wipe more blood from my lip. “The fact they beat the hell out of me?”

  “Yeah, about that. Maybe you should leave town for a while.”

  Well, fuck me. Things just took an even weirder turn. Why would Jenner wanna help me? “If this is about you imitating me and taking my place...”

  He flushes darkly and stammers something I don’t catch, then he’s the one turning and walking away as quickly as his feet can carry him.

  No fucking way... he’s carrying a torch for me? I’d been sorta joking earlier when I told Luna he was trying to look like me, and sure I felt he was acting strange, but I never thought it was... well, this serious.

  Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s some sort of twisted hero-worship, just different from the one Ed and his guys have got going—one that doesn’t include me getting beaten to a pulp while being asked to join their god-knows-what little enterprise.

  Fuck knows.

  It’s not until I’m almost at the house that I start to relax. Rubbing at the back of my head, cataloguing new bruises, I go around to the steps of the porch and practically jump out of my fucking skin when I see a shadow waiting.

  “Luna.” I let out an explosive sigh. “Fuck. Give a man a heart-attack, why don’t you?”

  She comes to the steps to meet me halfway, mouth quirking in a little grin. “Did I scare you, big man?”

  “No, my heart always does this thing when it races like I’m about to die for no reason.”

  “Do not joke about that, Ross Jones,” she hisses, grabbing the front of my shirt in a small fist and getting in my face. “No talking about dying. Not even in jest.”

  My brows go up. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She’s on the top step, I’m on the bottom one, so I look right into her sparkling eyes. A faint crease between her brows speaks of worry, or so I like to imagine when she says, “You’re always black and blue. What happened this time?”

  “Same old.”

  The small crease deepens. “You should fight them, Ross.”

  “Who said I’m not?”

  She smiles, then, bright and pleased, and I ghost my hand over her cheek, leaning in to kiss her, the weight of the day falling off me like dried mud, the pain of the bruises fading, my thoughts unknotting, releasing their claws from my brain. Even the fucking house doesn’t bother me.

  “You taste of blood,” she whispers. “Always of blood, and pain.”

  I frown, remembering the cut in my lip and bring a hand up to touch it, but she just kisses me again, so I guess she doesn’t mind.

  Blood and pain. All my scars ache anew and this time the kiss isn’t light but heavy and hard, and I climb up the steps to take her in my arms, feel her against me.

  I don’t give a damn about the future, or the price I’ll have to pay for allowing myself this. Tonight, I’ll take whatever she’s willing to give, and wrap myself in it, forgiveness, worry, soft skin and heat—and shut out this goddamn world.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Luna

  Ross is a whirlwind, taking me in his arms, stealing my breath, hauling me inside the house. He’s tearing at my clothes before the door is even shut behind us, his mouth hot and hard on mine, chasing after every little sound I make as his hands map my body.

  It’s dark as we stumble into his room, panting, and okay, I’m as invested in undressing him as he is—but he plays dirty and before I can as much as undo his jeans buttons, he has me on the bed, panties torn, bra gone, pumping his cock and bracing himself over me.

  “I want you,” he breathes, and a dark undercurrent in his voice raises goosebumps on my skin. “Right now. I just...”

  It’s not anger in his voice, like I expected. Well, sort of expected, and I was ready for a fight, though I didn’t want it. I want to tell him... the truth, and...

  “God, you’re sweet,” he growls in the back of his throat, and moves lower to kiss my breasts, to lick my nipples, sending electric shocks of pleasure straight between my legs.

  “Are you okay?” I whisper.

  “I’m fine.”

  No time to question it because he’s pushing his cock into me and we’re moving together, sweaty bodies sliding in a dance old as time, faster now, more frantic, as if in a race to reach the end, to break the ribbon, to shatter and come apart.

  “This isn’t love,” he grunts as he moves inside me, “it means nothing.”

  I frown even as I clutch at his shoulders. “Ross...”

  It’s like he’s replying to what I said when I last was here, and, God, I’ve regretted saying that so many times over the past days, have debated with myself about telling him, admitting how I feel.

  But that would be stupid, wouldn’t it? Trusting him with my heart like that, so soon, or ever.

  “Not goddamn love,” he repeats, “it’s not love,” like a mantra, like a chant, and he’s grunting with every deep thrust.

  Why does it hurt to hear it? I’m the one who said it first, who seemed to ask for this distance.

  “Isn’t it?” I whisper.

  Isn’t it love?

  He stills, stares down at me, and it’s all I can do not to writhe, pinned down, filled to bursting with his throbbing cock. Nailed by that pale blue gaze where shadows shift like clouds, questions and secrets and what looks like anger—or maybe hope?—before he slams down his shields and looks away.

  Looks away and bends down to lay his body on top of mine, thrusting deeper into me, so deep, and so good, taking my breath away. I lift my legs up to wrap around him, digging my heels into his taut ass as he starts pounding into me, really giving it to me, grunting with every thrust, and I swear his cock swells more. A fine tremor starts in his arms, propped on the elbows on either side of me, and a pained groan escapes him.

  “Ross?” I breathe, not sure if I should be worried after the way he’s been acting tonight.

  He doesn’t say anything for long moments, rocking into me, lean hips pressed to mine, his leg muscles flexing, his ass clenching. He glances down at me and where his eyes looked guarded before, a million feelings seem to race behind them now.

  “Kiss me,” he finally says, and something in his voice cracks.

  It jolts me, shakes me to the core, the pain I can hear for just one second before he turns his gaze away again. He doesn’t speak again after that, just moves inside me, and I want to weep but I can’t because he’s making me feel so good while breaking my heart. I’m about to come, and tears spill from my eyes.

  I never thought of sex as anything more than physical, but now I’ve done it with him, I realize it’s so much more. Where bodies meet, feelings coil, waiting to strike. Being like this with him means so much to me, probably so much more than it means to him, to someone who’s screwed the whole town before I came along.

  It splits me wide open in every way and I can’t hide from him. I cling to him, move with him, and even as I open my mouth to say it, tell the truth, admit that what I feel for him goes so much deeper than worry and wary affection, that I’m in love with him but don’t know where that would lead and I’m afraid, so afraid to let myself fall all the way... release com
es in a thundering wave, wiping out my thoughts and making me cry out in pleasure, white edging my sight and filling my mind.

  Thought splinters further when he stiffens and pulls out of me in a rush, spilling all over my stomach and boobs, each breath a ragged gasp, his beautiful face twisted with the intensity of his orgasm.

  It turns me inside out, makes my throat go tight and my eyes blurry.

  What am I going to do with this boy? I almost told him how I feel. When did I give away my heart to him completely, lost myself to him so much that I can’t hold back anymore?

  ***

  We’re lying curled together, facing each other. His eyes are closed, pale lashes resting on sharp cheekbones. “Next time we’re together, I’ll have condoms,” he mutters. “I just have to convince them to let me inside the drugstore.”

  “Still giving you trouble?”

  “What do you think?” But he doesn’t sound bitter, more like... resigned and tired.

  Somehow that’s worse.

  “Doesn’t Stacy work there? I thought she carried a torch for you.”

  He frowns, eyes still closed. “She’s okay, but hasn’t been around much lately.”

  “Lots of girls want you,” I whisper.

  I don’t know why I am saying those things. Am I jealous? My body’s heavy, my thoughts jumping all over the place.

  His lashes lift. “So what?”

  “I bet they’d jump at the chance to be here with you.”

  “Yeah, you must’ve missed the countless volunteers lining up at my door.”

  “All the girls in this town, for instance.” Isn’t that what Dena implied the other day?

  “It’s not like that,” he whispers. “I don’t care about other girls, and they don’t care about me, all right? They don’t give a shit, and I don’t, either.”

  Something tight in my chest unclenches. I smile.

  “You like me,” he breathes, voice sleepy and slurred.

  This time I don’t fight it. “It shows, huh?” I try for light because I bet he’d run if he knew just how much. “I told you yesterday. I like you.” I stroke his arm. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Just... that it’s different with you, I... fuck. I dunno.”