But first burned bacon.
Shrugging, I offer him a smile.
“I’m okay.”
“Yeah?”
I nod.
“I’m a little hungry.” While the admission makes him smile, it shocks me for it’s another first. Maybe there is hope for me after all.
“I hope you like your bacon extra crispy.”
“Is that why the alarm went off?”
He grimaces as he takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen island.
“Yeah, we almost had the FDNY here.”
“Riggs would kill you if you burned the place down.”
“Speaking of Riggs,” he starts, pulling out a stool for me. Using the bottom rung, I climb onto it and he pushes me closer to the island before rounding it and grabbing two plates. “Your car is at the shop,” he continues, shoveling some eggs onto the dishes. I watch as he adds a few charred pieces of bacon and a scoop of goo. I’m serious, whatever he puts on the plate looks like some sort of farina concoction gone wrong and here he was worried about the burned bacon. “Pipe will look at it today while we’re at dinner and let us know where you stand, but he already told me they have a few cars on the lot you can use while yours undergoes repairs.” He pauses to knife off a piece of butter and adds it to the goo. “It would help if we knew what happened, though,” he adds, sliding the dish in front of me.
I know he’s staring at me, waiting for me to respond but I’m too busy trying to figure out what the fuck he’s trying to feed me. As awful as it looks, I try to fake a smile and lift my fork. After everything I’ve put him through in the last twenty-four hours, the man could give me a plate of horse shit and I’ll eat it…well, not really. I mean there’s gotta be a limit.
“Dig in,” he says with a look of pride in his eyes.
I push my fork around the plate, loading it with some eggs and the goo.
“What did you say this was again?”
“Grits.”
“Grits,” I repeat, lifting the fork to my lips. “What exactly is a grit?”
“You’ve never had grits before?” he asks sounding shocked and mildly offended.
“Guilty.”
He contemplates that for a second before lifting his own fork and loading it with the grits.
“Taste it,” he says before shoving the fork into his mouth. I watch as he lets the grits sit on his tongue, seeming to test the flavors on his palette before chewing. He takes another forkful and looks at me. “They’re not bad for instant grits, but much better with cheese. Next time.”
Next time.
I can’t even work up the nerve to taste them once.
Grabbing a napkin, he wipes his mouth and takes a drink of water. I divert my attention back to my fork and take a whiff. They don’t smell so I shove the fork in my mouth and hope for the best. Beside me, Bash laughs.
Chewing, I look at him.
“Not bad.”
“Lord, I wish my mother was here to witness this,” he says as he stares at me thoughtfully. “I reckon she’d get a kick out of you after the shock wore off over the fact you didn’t know what a grit was.”
I smile at that and reach for a piece of burned bacon.
“You miss her,” I state.
“Yeah,” he replies softly. “And at the weirdest moments.”
“It happens,” I say turning in my stool to face him. “Tell me about her.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Well,” I begin, pausing to take another bite. “You said I remind you of her.” I leave out the part where he eluded, she was abused, figuring I’ll let him choose what he divulges and what he doesn’t. “I guess I’m wondering how.”
Looking back at his plate, he shrugs his shoulders in a noncommittal way.
“I suppose there are a lot of ways the two of you are similar. When I was little, she was a feisty little thing like you and while she didn’t blurt out whatever was on her mind, she didn’t hold back either if that makes any sense. If she didn’t like you, you knew it and if she loved you, she showed it. She was strong too. Thinking back, I don’t think she ever realized her strength, if she had I don’t think she would’ve stayed. At least that’s what I tell myself when I wonder why she endured years of beatings and never left my old man.”
He pauses to look at me and I try to contain the shock as I stare back at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Statistics prove I’m not alone, that there are millions of women who suffer from domestic violence but hearing Bash’s account of his mother’s abuse breaks my heart. I suppose it’s hearing it from an outsider’s point of view. I think of my gram and wonder if she thought the same things about me that Bash thinks about his mom.
“My dad served in the marine corps until I was five. I don’t remember him much before that, but my mom said he didn’t come back the same man she married. He had severe PTSD and was too proud to ever acknowledge it. Untreated it just became a nightmare.” He pauses for a second, dropping his head as he draws in a deep breath. “I feel like I’m excusing his actions because he had a condition, but that’s so far from the truth. I don’t consider my old man a hero. I don’t honor him in any kind of way for serving our country because he couldn’t serve his family. I don’t know if that makes me heartless or what but when your only childhood memories consist of your mother getting the shit kicked out of her, you don’t really give a fuck.”
I try to picture him as a little boy watching powerlessly as his father beat his mother and tears prick my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper softly, and he looks at me thoughtfully before continuing.
“Why? You didn’t hit her.” I don’t think he expects me to answer, so I don’t. Instead, I watch as he diverts his eyes back to his dish and shoves it away from him. I suppose he’s lost his appetite.
“She said that a lot, you know. To me, to him, she was always apologizing, and I never understood why.”
If I had a dollar for every time I apologized to Declan, I’d be rolling in cash. I think that’s the nature of the beast. We, the victims of domestic violence, we’re quick to apologize because at some point we blame ourselves for our abuser’s actions. I remember standing in front of the mirror, pinching the skin on my stomach while telling myself that this was all my fault. Declan married me six pounds lighter, if I didn’t gain weight, he wouldn’t be so mad or find me disgusting. He’d still love me, not hurt me.
“I never admitted this to anyone, but part of me resents her for that and another part resents her for not leaving, for fucking pretending. I remember one night the three of us went to dinner, my father was wearing his kutte, and he had some veteran patches displayed on the front. The waitress noticed them and thanked him for his service. She even paid for our meal. She said it was her honor to serve a hero and there was my mother sitting there with a proud smile and a scarf around her neck, hiding the bruises from the night before. It’s the first time I realized how angry I was towards her.”
That breaks my heart even more because if I know anything about Bash, it’s that the man loved his mother, but perhaps he didn’t understand her. Like I said earlier, to understand the actions, one must first understand the drive.
“It’s not easy to leave, Bash,” I whisper softly, emotion heavy in my tone of voice. “And just because you leave doesn’t mean you’re free.”
Twisting around to face me, Bash takes my hands. Our knees brush and our eyes lock.
“One minute you think you’re okay, that you’re strong enough to break away and move on, but the moment you try to, something just clicks. Last night, when I left here, it wasn’t because I wanted to. I felt like I had to like I was protecting myself.”
“I’d never hurt you,” he replies hoarsely, and I offer him a sad smile in return.
“I believe you, but once upon a time, I believed another man wouldn’t hurt me either, and he destroyed me.”
Tears trickle from the corners of my eyes and I try to pull my hands away to brush them away, b
ut Bash beats me to it. He gently thumbs away my tears as his eyes remain glued to mine.
“The scars on my back…”
“You don’t have to tell me,” he says, swallowing. “I know what they’re from.”
That surprises me.
“You do?”
“I may be younger than you, but I’ve been around the block a time or two, darlin’.”
Of course he has. It’s easy to forget that Bash is not your typical nine-to-five guy because he’s so different from the rest of the Satan’s Knights, but the truth is, only God knows what he’s seen and done.
“Shit,” he hisses. “That’s probably the wrong thing to say right now.”
I shrug.
“Does anyone ever really know what the right thing to say is? Life doesn’t come with a script.”
“True.”
“And adlibs are sometimes the best part,” I whisper, cocking my head to the side. “You’re an ad-lib, Bash. A perfect surprise to an otherwise tragic tale I didn’t see coming. You’re changing the entire direction of my story and it’s been a really long time since I’ve turned the page with anticipation.”
His eyes soften as he scratches his jaw.
“I have no idea what you just said, but I’ll take it.”
Wiping my cheeks, I laugh. He smiles and moves off the stool. Standing in front of me, he tucks a wild strand of hair behind my ear.
“You want a sneak peek of where the story goes next?”
You know what the best ad lib is? A kiss.
-Twenty-two-
Bash
I didn’t mean to kiss her, but I couldn’t hold out another second longer. I needed to touch her. To feel her. To fucking taste her and know she’s real. That this thing we’re building isn’t some figment of my imagination.
A moan slides off her tongue and rolls onto mine and it’s all the affirmation I need. Dragging her arms up my body, I wrap them around my neck and pull her closer. She winds her legs around my waist, and I grab her ass, lifting her off the stool.
I should be working at making her feel comfortable enough to share what she went through, maybe drop a name so I can fucking kill the bastard who laid a finger on her. I also should be getting the details on what the fuck happened with her, so I don’t look like a fool when Pipe tells me what the damage is.
Instead of doing any of that, I carry her into my room and drop her gently onto the bed. Her hair fans over the pillow, a stark contrast against the white sheets and I swear on everything I am and everything I’ll be, she’s a fucking dream come true. Pressing one knee into the mattress, I crawl over here. My mouth finds hers and she kisses me just as desperately as I kiss her, like she needs this to be real too.
Like she needs me.
She spreads her legs, giving me room to settle between them and her hands find purchase on my hips as her tongue slips out and wets my lips. Opening for her, I reach for the hem on her t-shirt and gently work it up her body as she invades my mouth. There’s something in the way her mouth works mine that tells me she needs to be the one in charge and that’s fine with me. I don’t mind Lydia taking what she needs because I get her in return, and I’ll take her any way I can get her.
Broken or whole.
Crying or smiling.
Scared or brazen.
Whatever way.
Giving my lower lip one more tug, she breaks the kiss and swipes her tongue over the spot she nipped. A groan rumbles from the back of my throat as we pull away from each other just long enough for me to work the t-shirt over her head. Tossing it to the side, I look down at her and take in her perky tits. I didn’t get to appreciate them as much as I wanted to last night. Time to change that.
I bend my head and with my eyes on hers; I roll my tongue over one taut nipple. Her lips part with a gasp and her fingers tighten around the elastic band of my sweats.
“You like that, darlin’?”
An incoherent sound makes its way past her lips and I smile before closing my mouth around the nipple, sucking it between my teeth. Slamming the bottom of her feet against the mattress, she bends her knees and arches her back off the bed at the sensation.
Our eyes remain locked and hers cloud with desire.
So fucking pretty.
So fucking right.
My teeth ease up and I flick my tongue over the pink bud. She whimpers slightly, and I replace my mouth with my fingers, pinching the flesh and blowing a breath across the peak.
“Bash.”
“Right here,” I rasp, releasing her nipple. I move to the other one and give it the same undivided attention I gave its mate and reach between her legs with my other hand. Swiping my fingers between the lips of her pussy, I find her wet and aching for my cock. She roughly pushes my pants down to my thighs, freeing my cock and arches against my hand.
“Tell me what you want,” I hiss as I continue to rub her pussy, making it my business to tease the fuck out of her clit.
Her eyes find mine and instead of answering me with words, she closes her legs around me and grips my shoulders, rolling us over. On my back, shock wears on my features as she pushes my hand away from her cunt and straddles me.
“I want to be on top,” she whispers, wrapping a hand around my cock.
I ain’t about to argue. If she rides my dick the way she rides my tongue, I’m in for one hell of a morning. Folding my arms behind my head, I grin up at her.
“Have at it, darlin’.”
In the next second, she presses her hands to the center of my chest and lifts off me, positioning herself over my cock. Bending her head, she touches her forehead to mine and in those green eyes I see it…I see forever.
Me and her lovin’ and livin’.
She slowly lowers herself, taking the head of my cock first and I struggle not to lift my hips and charge all the way in. I focus on her face, watching as she draws her lower lip between her teeth and takes another inch. It’s the fucking sweetest hell I’ve ever known and if I died right this moment, I could say I died a happy man.
When she’s fully seated on my cock, she leans back, and I take in the view. Something flashes in her eyes, something I can’t quite name and I wonder what she’s thinking. She closes her eyes and rolls her hips, lifting off my cock only to slide back down. I grab her hips and we find a rhythm. The sound of our bodies melding together fills my ears, along with the sweet noises she makes as she fucks me senseless. Keeping myself in check and my orgasm at bay, I lean up and take her tit back in my mouth. It’s just what she needs to drive her over the edge and soon her pussy is clenching around my cock. She twists and grins all over me, milking every ounce of pleasure and when she screams my name, I let go. My hips arch off the bed and my dick slams into her one final time and I come harder than I’ve ever come in my entire life.
She collapses on top of me and with whatever energy left inside of me, I wrap my arms tightly around her body. It takes us both a few minutes to catch our breath and when we finally do, she rolls off me and takes a deep breath. I stare at her and soon a smile spreads across that perfect mouth of hers.
“That was fucking fantastic,” she declares, pushing the hair away from her face. She looks so fucking sated and so fucking proud of herself, like she conquered the world and not just my cock. It’s a beautiful fucking sight and much more welcome than the haunted look that was there when I first met her.
My gaze travels lower, taking in every inch of her body. When my eyes reach the juncture between her legs, I spot my own release sliding down the inside of her thigh and push myself out of the bed. Lifting my sweatpants up, I head into the bathroom and grab a washcloth. I dampen it with hot water and wring it out before making my way back inside the bedroom. Lydia looks at me with curious eyes and I remain silent as I wink at her. Bringing the washcloth to her thighs, I clean her up. Her body goes still, and I feel her eyes on me. When I’m finished, I drop the washcloth on the nightstand and slide back into bed next to her. I quietly take her into my arms and press my li
ps to the top of her head.
“I’ve never had a man take care of me the way you take care of me.”
“I’m just getting started,” I reply, and I realize I’ve never meant anything more. My only wish is that I found her sooner, that I was able to stop the man who harmed her. Subconsciously my fingers move to the scars on her back and I gently trace the circles.
“I’m sorry anyone ever thought it was their right to hurt you,” I whisper.
To my surprise she doesn’t go rigid in my arms. Instead, she curls into my side and ever so slowly she lifts her eyes to mine.
“I know you said you know what they’re from, but I think I need to say it out loud.” She pauses to worry her lip between her teeth, and I sense there is a war raging inside her. She probably wants to tell me, thinking if she allows herself to talk about it, she’ll free herself from the pain but going to that dark place terrifies her. I try to think of a way to help, of something to say that will make it easier for her, but she finds the courage before I find the words.
“They’re cigarette burns,” she says, her voice shaking with every word. I watch as she swallows and diverts her eyes away from mine, focusing on the far wall.
“There’s…uh…three more, but they’re not as noticeable.”
Placing one hand on her thigh, I reach for one of hers and lace our fingers together. I don’t tell her I noticed them or the faint mark she has on the side of her neck too.
“Lydia, darlin’, look at me.”
“If I look at you, I won’t be able to continue.” She pauses to take a deep breath and squeezes my hand. “Like I told you earlier, it started with I love you, with promises and a bright future. Then, somewhere along the way, it changed. I gained some weight. Nothing crazy, just a couple of pounds, but he didn’t like it. He said he was with me for my looks and once they went, he’d be done with me.”
My jaw clenches as I stare at her profile and I watch as she works through her grief, shaking her head at whatever thoughts invade her mind.
Shifting Gears (Satan's Knights Prospect Trilogy Book 1) Page 16