Savages Boxed Set

by Gadziala, Jessica

  At my raised brow, she ducked her head, blushing a little. "If I wasn't hungry before... I am now," she admitted in a quiet voice, making a chuckle rumble through my chest. It wasn't that I was a man of little humor. Hell, when your best friend is someone the likes of Shooter, you're going to have a stitch in your side constantly. But there was something about her awkwardness that was both sexy as hell and hilariously endearing. I never found myself laughing with (or at) women. My reaction to Alex was different. New. Interesting.

  "Where are you going?" I asked, watching her walk past me with the plates, bypassing the stools pressed up against the island, past the living room, and making her way toward the hall.

  "Figured we'd eat in bed," she said, not even bothering to turn around.

  "Beds are for fucking and sleeping," I said, watching her freeze and turn back to me.

  Her brows were raised, a confused smile tugging at her lips. "What?"

  "Fucking and sleeping. Generally in that order. You don't eat in bed."

  "Why the hell not?" she asked, waving a plate-filled hand out to the side.

  "You seriously eat in your bed?"

  At this, she snorted. "Have you seen my apartment?" she asked, smiling. "Aside from my desk chair, the only place I have to sit is my bed. It doubles as a dining room, couch, office, pedicure chair..."

  "Alright," I said, agreeing her place was a hellhole that maybe necessitated something like that kind of arrangement. "But we ain't eating in bed," I said, gesturing a hand toward the kitchen counter. At this, she exhaled loudly, shaking her head and made her way back over, slamming the plates down loudly.

  "Just saying... the bed would be more comfortable," she shrugged, pulling out a stool and sitting down. I shook my head at her, going to the fridge to grab a couple beers. "So you don't even like... late night snack in bed?" she asked. When I turned back, she was studying me with intense eyes.

  "No doll," I said, handing her a beer and sitting down to eat.

  "Weird," she said into the mouth of the beer bottle. We ate in silence for a minute, the air around Alex seeming to get more and more antsy by the moment as she started to fidget around. "Are we not going to talk about how odd that meeting was?" she finally asked, the words rushing out and into each other like she had been trying to hold them back for a while.

  Yeah. Well. We should have talked about the meeting hours ago. But I sure as fuck wasn't going to stop putting my hands on her body to talk about the sick fuck who made her voice sound lifeless.

  But I guessed it was time. She was fed, fucked, and generally more level-headed than usual.

  "Sure," I said, pushing my plate aside.

  "That was weird, right?" she asked, turning fully to me, her knees pressing into my thigh and she left them there.

  "Yeah, doll, that was weird."

  "He doesn't know I've been keeping tabs on him."

  "No, he doesn't." If he did, she would have been long dead. Awful thought, but true nonetheless.

  "So what the hell does he want you to hold onto me for?"

  "That's a good question." And one I had been mulling over nonstop since Lex walked out of that train car. Alex, aside from me knowing her mission in life was to take down Lex Keith, was a nobody. She had no friends. No family. She kept to herself. There was nothing about her that would draw Lex's attention. Aside from her being gorgeous. But if that was his motive, she wouldn't still be in my hands. Nothing about the situation made sense.

  But I knew Lex. I knew how he operated. He had plans. And then he had plans to backup his plans. If he wanted Alex, he had a reason.

  "And why keep Shooter?" she went on, her brows drawn together so two little vertical lines formed between them and I got a clear image of her doing that every time she sat down at her laptop. Like it was the look she got anytime she was trying to mull something over.

  Shoot was another off-issue. I understood why he took him to begin with. Lex knew he was fuckin' with me. He knew I didn't like that shit. He wanted to make sure I would do as I was told. That made sense. It was smart.

  But keeping Shoot even after I obviously showed I was doing my job? Yeah, I didn't get that.

  It reeked of a bigger plan.

  And that filled me with something that had never been very familiar to me: dread.

  At least Alex had the presence of mind to give him a knife. Fuck. Some little nobody hacker was more on her game than I was. The fuck was going on with me?

  "I don't know," I finally answered.

  "Between the two of us," she went on, picking at her potatoes, but not eating any, "we seem to know Lex pretty well. None of this fits his usual M.O." She was silent for a minute, then said so quietly it was mostly to herself, "What the hell does he want with me?"

  I sighed, turning slightly in my chair and putting a hand on her thigh. "Dunno. But he ain't gonna get you. You and me... we'll feel this out. See if we can find out anything else. We can't, we get you the fuck outta here before he can come lookin' for you."

  "What about you and Shoot?" she asked, looking anxious.

  "Let me worry about me and Shoot."

  "You're in this because of me," she pressed.

  "No," I said, lowering my head and holding her eyes. "I am in this because Lex is an asshole who took the only person who is important to me so he could use me like a puppet. This ain't on you."

  "He took Shoot because he wanted you to take me," she persisted.

  "Doll, this is the job," I said, shrugging. "You deal with fuckheads like Lex Keith... you get used to them doing dirty shit and getting you involved. That's why I get paid what I get paid. To put up with their shit. I've always accepted this. Shoot has always accepted it. The only fuck up we have is having such a close relationship and living in the same town. That shit catches up to you. We should have been more careful. This ain't on you. This is on me. This is the life I have chosen. Don't go taking my blame on your shoulders."

  She looked down at her plate. "I like Shooter. I mean... I know I only met him for a minute, but I liked him. He seems like good people."

  "The best," I agreed. "Better by far than me. But he's smart, Alex. He's well trained. He has good instincts. I know it doesn't seem like it because of that smart mouth he's got, but it's true. In fact, those stupid ass comments he makes... it makes people underestimate him. Which works to his advantage. As far as survival goes, he has just as good a chance as we do even though he's in the belly of Lex's operation."

  To this, she made a short, humorless laugh. "That doesn't exactly bode well for any of us then."

  "Look," I said, not liking her tone going back to empty, "it's late. We've had a fuckuva hard day. We need to get some shut eye and talk on this when we're rested."

  Alex took a breath, shrugging a shoulder. "Alright."

  "Alright," I agreed, standing.

  "Just throw me a blanket and a pillow and I'll be all set," she said, getting up to take the dishes.

  "Leave the dishes. And what the fuck you talking about?"

  Her brows drew together. "A blanket and a pillow," she repeated, waving a hand out toward the living room, "for the couch. So I can sleep. I mean, I can do without the pillow if you don't have any extras. But I'm like... practically naked here," she waved down at her bare legs.

  I felt a smile tugging at my lips. Did she seriously think I was going to let her sleep on the couch?

  "You're in bed with me," I said, moving toward the hallway.

  "No, really. The couch is fine. I don't want to be... in the way."

  I stopped by the bathroom, turning to her, expecting to see her smiling like she was teasing me or something. But all I saw was seriousness.

  "Doll, you're sleeping in bed with me. And I want you to be all up in my way. Oh and," I said, giving her a slow up-and-down, "there will be no 'practically' about it. You're in my bed, you're naked."

  With that, I let myself into the bathroom, the image of her wide-eyed surprise burned in my brain as I stripped and jumped in the s
hower.

  When I dried off and made my way back to the bedroom, towel slung low on my hips, I found her on the bed. Still in the tee. Legs hidden underneath the covers.

  My lips quirked up when her gaze went to me. And, as if she couldn't help it, her eyes went down my chest and stomach, stopping at the towel. As soon as her gaze held there, I pulled the tuck and let it fall to the floor. She looked for a long second before her gaze went to the comforter around her waist.

  "Thought I made the no clothes rule pretty clear," I said, moving toward my side of the bed and pulling back the sheets.

  "You can sleep however you want to. I like to have clothes on."

  "Fuck what you like," I said, reaching over and hauling the shirt over her head and tossing it into the hallway.

  "Seriously?" she asked, eyes burning into me as her arm went across her chest, covering her breasts.

  "Yup."

  "You take your bed way too seriously," she grumbled, sliding under the covers.

  I laid back for a minute before reaching out and hauling her into my side. She let out a yelp and her hand settled on my stomach, trying to push back. "Relax."

  "I will if you let me go," she said, still pushing.

  I shook my head, dragging her half onto my chest, one arm locked around her shoulders, the other around her hips, one of her legs trapped between mine. I traced my fingers across her hip and she stopped struggling, rubbing her face against my chest and making a quiet whimpering sound in her throat that went right to my cock.

  "Glad to know you're up for a fuck anytime my hands touch you, doll, but I'm beat so you're gonna have to suffer through till morning." I smiled when I felt her try to raise herself up. "Go to sleep, Alex."

  "Stop being so fucking bossy," she countered, but settled back down.

  "Not gonna happen," I said, squeezing her once before settling back.

  THIRTEEN

  Alex

  I woke up cold.

  That was how I knew that I was alone. Breaker's huge body had been like a furnace all night. A warm, snuggly furnace. If someone would had told me that Bryan Breaker: six feet-something of ruthless contract muscle and very rough sex-haver was a full-contact sleeper, I would have said they were crazy.

  But that was before he ripped off his towel (hot), then ripped off my tee (even hotter) and hauled me against his body, completely trapping me with both his arms and one of his legs, and not letting me so much as twitch all night.

  I thought I would feel claustrophobic. I had never slept in the same bed with someone else. And even though I had always slept on a tiny twin size, I always had plenty of room to roll and move around when I got restless. Which was frequently.

  And I was never a deep, deep sleeper either. Every yell on the streets below my apartment and every beeping of a locking car woke me up. As did my usual nightly bad dreams.

  But I slept through.

  For the first time in I can't remember how long.

  Part of it was likely due to the utter silence of Breaker's secluded house.

  But that didn't explain why there weren't bad dreams.

  I was trying really hard to not focus on that little fact.

  How I slept through Breaker sneaking out from underneath me? Yeah, that was a complete mystery.

  I pushed myself up in bed, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. I made my way over to his dresser and grabbed a new tee, slipped into it, and scurried to the bathroom.

  After some rummaging, I found an extra toothbrush and went to work on brushing them as well as frantically trying to finger-comb some semblance of order to my hair. Given the only option being hand soap, I forewent washing my face and made my way out to the living area.

  Only to stop dead at seeing Breaker with his strong back to me, a pair of gray sweatpants low on his hips, standing at the sink... washing dishes.

  Washing. Dishes.

  The site was so unexpected and strange that I felt a strange laugh escape my lips.

  At the sound, Breaker's head turned over his shoulder. "What's funny?"

  "You wash dishes?" I asked, stepping into the living room.

  "How else they gonna get clean?"

  "I don't know. I figured badasses didn't have to do stuff like that. That the dishes came alive and washed themselves out of fear of retribution or something."

  At this, he snorted, his eyes getting warm. "There's coffee."

  Okay. This was weird.

  Not weird in a bad way.

  Weird in a weird way.

  Because it was so normal. It was the way countless people probably started their mornings. Doing banal chores. Sharing a smile. Offering each other coffee. It was positively... domestic.

  At that, I laughed again.

  Because men like Breaker should never be described as domestic.

  I walked over to the coffee machine, pouring myself a cup and topping off his. Like a ritual.

  Meanwhile, I had never topped off someone else's coffee ever before.

  "You hungry?" I asked, feeling uncomfortable with the silence.

  "You cook?"

  "I can burn some toast," I offered, going to grab the bread and putting two slices for myself into the toaster.

  "Sure," he said, drying off the potato skillet from the night before.

  I stood watching the little crinkled metal coils heat up, feeling the urge to fill the silence. Which, in the past, was weird for me. But since I met Breaker, I couldn't seem to keep my mouth shut. "Where did you learn to cook?"

  I felt rather than saw Breaker pause. "What?"

  "Where did you learn to cook?"

  "My mom."

  At this, I felt my head turn. "Really?"

  Breaker picked up his coffee cup, leaning his hips against the counter, watching me. "Yeah. Really. She would let me pitch in when I was little. Before she died."

  Another dead mother. We were a sad pair.

  "How old were you?" I asked, skipping over the condolences. No one wanted to hear that shit.

  "Ten."

  Damn. Ten. That sucked. I got six extra years with mine.

  "Was your dad in the picture?" I asked, knowing I was prying, expecting him to shut me out. That's what people did. That's what I did.

  "If by 'in the picture' you mean around to beat the ever loving shit out of me everyday, then yeah."

  I felt myself wince at that.

  I had been slapped by a foster parent or two. I knew how humiliating and powerless that felt. I couldn't imagine how it felt when it was an actual parent hitting you. When it was their blood in your veins. When there was no hope of ever getting transferred out.

  Besides, I was now familiar with how it felt to have a grown man's fist hit you. And it wasn't fun. My jaw hurt when I opened it. Just a twinge from the pretty blue bruise I had marring my skin, but still, it hurt. And that was just one punch.

  "Was he a drunk like Shoot's dad?" I asked, hoping that was it. Otherwise, what excuse could there be?

  "No, doll. He was just a dick. Before it was me, it was my mom."

  "He beat your mom?" I asked, my voice sounding weird. Weak.

  "Yeah."

  That's why. That was why he freaked out about not hitting me. Not because he was just a noble guy. A decent person. Because he had watched his father wail on his defenseless mother growing up. And when she was gone, he was the stand in.

  Crap.

  I had been kinda insensitive telling him to get over it.

  But how was I supposed to know?

  "How did she die?" I asked. I was curious and he was, apparently, really forthcoming about his past.

  "Lung cancer," he said easily. "She didn't smoke. But Pops did."

  Oh, hell.

  Okay.

  My story was starting to sound less horrific than his.

  Not that it was a contest. But if it was... he would win. Easy.

  I felt tears sting the backs of my eyes and felt a wave of horror wash over me. That wasn't me. I wasn't the crying kind of girl. I wa
s the put your chin up, throw your shoulders back, and pretend nothing got to you kind of girl. I wasn't going to cry for little ten year old Breaker while big, manly, reasonably well-adjusted Breaker stood a few feet from me.

  His eyes warmed for a second watching me. Like maybe he knew what I was struggling with. Then, his voice a little amused, "Your toast is burning."

  I whipped around, hitting the buttons and, sure enough, they were blackened. But salvageable. I rummaged around for a knife and scraped the char off over the garbage before buttering them.

  "Thanks babe," he said easily, taking a triangle and biting into it.

  I hadn't thanked him for dinner.

  Shit.

  Okay.

  I needed to like... muster up some basic social skills or something.

  I munched on a piece of toast, looking out the window into his backyard. "So, um, like..." Oh, my God. I needed to stop mumbling. "What do you... do?"

  His head tilted to the side. "What?"

  "When you're not... working? What do you do?"

  He shrugged. "Workout. Watch movies. Go out with Shoot or Paine."

  A part of me realized that going out with Shoot or Paine (whoever the hell that was) involved all three of them taking off in different directions with different women. I pushed down the weird twinge of jealousy.

  We had sex.

  That didn't give me the right to plant my flag in him.

  He probably fucked around all the time.

  Why was I even thinking about his former sexual conquests? That was totally none of my business. He wasn't wondering about mine. And he damn well wasn't feeling jealous about them. Not that he should seeing as they were just... pathetic compared to him.

  "Alex," his voice called and my head snapped to him. "Called you twice," he said, making me blush slightly.

  "Sorry. I was... somewhere else."

  "Where?"

  "Not here."

  At this, I got a brow raise. "What's with the fuckin' walls, doll?"

  "What walls?"

  "The ten foot tall barbed wire ones you wear around you like a security blanket."

  Well hell.

  He got me.