Brody took her face between his palms and held it tight. “I don’t know what they did to you. Not just those ones last night, but the ones before. I don’t know who made you feel like you weren’t nothing, or you weren’t special, but Angel, I swear, you are special, and you don’t have to be a whore. There’s a million other things you could be.”
She swallowed hard, forcing down the pain she heard in his voice and the one she felt in her heart. “Thank you.”
“Angel. I’m sorry for what they did. I can’t do anything about it, but for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”
She hugged him tighter. “It’ll be free for you, Brody. As soon as I can, it’ll be free for you and Sam, anytime you want me,” she said.
He opened his eyes wide and stared at her. In the gray of the room his eyes were so dark it was impossible to see his pupils. She waited for him to speak, but he said nothing.
“What do you want, Brody? I want to pay you back…for what you did. I have some money saved. I’ll give it to you. Whatever you want.”
“I don’t want your money. I just don’t want you doing it anymore,” he said.
“Doing what?”
“Working.”
She sighed. If only it were that simple. “Why? You going to take care of me, Brody? I don’t want that and neither do you!”
“I’ll get a job,” he said, sounding hopeful. “You can stay here with me and Sam and get a regular job, and you don’t have to be with no one unless you want to. Three incomes…we could even move then. Somewhere nicer.”
“You think it’s that easy?”
“Why can’t it be?”
“Why don’t you have a job now?”
“I’ve had a lot of them. I usually end up getting fired. Miss too much work.”
“I’ll tell you what, Brody, I’ll quit if you will.” She hated working, but she really didn’t believe he wanted her to quit bad enough to sober up. He didn’t even know her.
“What do you mean?” His eyes narrowed, and he frowned.
“You. Quit drinking. Quit doing drugs.” She grabbed his arms and pointed to the purple, scarred veins and bruises on his arms. “Quit all this shit.”
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I’ve tried?”
“Try harder. In fact, fuck trying, just do it.”
“I’ll try.”
She grabbed his wrists and straddled him. “That doesn’t sound very committal. I told you to do it, not to try.” She stared down at him.
“I said I’d try.” A hint of irritation crept into his tone.
Angel stared at his frowning mouth.
“Kiss me,” he said.
Shit. Where had that come from? Well, she was lying on top of him naked; that was probably a big part of it, and suddenly she felt exactly what she was—naked.
But wasn’t he…? Didn’t he have Sam? She thought Brody was gay, but then he’d said he’d “been with just about everything by now,” so what did that mean? Oh, her head was too fuzzy to try and figure him out.
God, she hated kissing. She hated it so much that she’d prefer to suck a stranger’s cock rather than kiss him. But this was Brody. She couldn’t kiss the man who’d picked her up out of the fucking snow?
“Why do you want me to kiss you?”
“I miss it.”
Angel studied his face, trying to decide what he meant. She shook her head, feeling stupid. “Don’t you and Sam kiss?”
“We do. I just want to kiss you.”
Hesitantly she leaned down, intending to give him a quick peck on his mouth.
Her lips touched his, and he responded immediately, jerking his right arm free and clutching the back of her head as he held her in place.
His stubble rasped against her windburned skin, and her chapped lips stung. His insistent mouth tasted like sour wine. She closed her eyes and tried to kiss him back, wanting to feel…something. He’d saved her.
For just a second she felt a flicker. Want. It was like a bright light flashing in the dark—and then it faded to black, leaving no trace behind except for the taste of old wine on her lips.
You don’t want him. It wasn’t want that she felt—it couldn’t be. Want was out of the question, want was for people who met in normal ways, people who had lives they could be proud of. Want wasn’t something that happened between an addict and a whore. Whatever it was she was feeling, it definitely wasn’t want.
But it was warm and it was comforting and it made her heart ache. What at first had felt like an obligation had changed into something else. A need…a want.
Brody just made her feel protected. It was an unfamiliar reaction, and yet somehow she recognized what safe was with him. And she wanted him.
No. You don’t want this. You don’t need this—he doesn’t need this. He has enough fucking problems.
Angel sat up, pulling herself away from his grip. She gazed at his mouth, and he licked his lips. For just a second she thought about kissing him again. Her feelings for him were a mixed-up mess. She actually cared for him. It would be different to be with Brody—different than anything she’d ever experienced. She’d never had sex with someone she cared about.
“Wow, you cheated. You asked me to kiss you. You didn’t say nothing about kissing me,” she said finally when she had caught her breath.
She shifted on top of him, painfully aware of two glaring things. The first was that she was afraid of brushing her pussy against him, not wanting to know how much it hurt. The other thing she knew was that their kiss had absolutely no effect on him. Her belly pressed hard against his crotch. There was only softness there. She hadn’t even given him an erection.
Maybe he knew. Maybe he knew how fucked-up she was. There’d never been a reason to want someone. Every person she’d encountered in her life had shit on her. How do you trust a stranger when you can’t trust your family? How do you love someone when all they do is hurt you? So many things that she’d never had, and desire was one of them. No beautiful first dates, no lovingly holding hands and sweet kisses with a boy, nothing. Nothing but getting fucked. Maybe Brody had finally seen that she just wasn’t worth his time. He could do better.
He was living in filth and drinking old wine out of almost empty bottles, and he could still do better than her. What a cold, brutal awakening that was.
She moved back up beside him and tried not to start crying when he thanked her. Thanked her! For what?
She kissed his cheek, at a loss for words, but needing to say something. “Brody? I can…I can suck you off, if you’d like that?”
“No.” His answer was immediate, like he wouldn’t even consider such a thing. Angel stared at him, puzzled. She’d never known a man who’d turn down the offer of a blowjob. Even if a man didn’t find you attractive, he’d still let you suck his dick.
This was strange. He’d wanted her to kiss him, and yet now he seemed completely disinterested in her sexually.
“I think you ought to go back to sleep,” he said with a yawn. “You look tired.” He rolled over on his side, facing away from her like he didn’t want to see her. “I know I’m tired.”
* * * *
She did sleep for a while, until the room was bright, too bright. A cat yowled somewhere nearby. Her bladder was going to burst, and she finally gave in to it and slipped out of bed. There was a small pile of clothes on top of a dresser that looked like they might be clean, and she pulled on a black T-shirt that, judging from its size, must belong to Sam.
It wasn’t clean. She pulled it over her head and was immediately cloaked in a thick, masculine odor. Angel breathed it in as the shirt slid over her body, and she shivered as goose bumps skittered up her arms. Sam’s scent wrapped around her, chasing away the chill in the air. She hugged the shirt to her body, thinking of her bare skin touching where his once had.
Brody was breathing deeply, apparently asleep, and she crept out the door to go and use the bathroom.
Angel stopped in the living room to glance at Sam; he appear
ed terribly uncomfortable lying on the sofa. He was much too big of a man to sleep there without looking awkward. One thick arm was thrown up over his face, covering his eyes.
The main room was sparsely furnished. A huge piano seemed out of place near the shabby couch. Despite the thick layer of dust that covered it, the piano was beautiful. Sam’s large hands didn’t seem suited to playing. It must belong to Brody, although it was hard to imagine those shaky fingers on the keys.
Angel walked to the bathroom as quietly as she could, keeping her gaze on Sam. She didn’t want to wake him.
The tile floor of the dingy bathroom was icy cold, and she lowered herself gingerly onto the toilet. She stared down at the stained grout, counting missing tiles, doing whatever she could to take her mind off what she had to do. It was a hell of a thing to be scared to pee. Finally she managed to get started and was immediately sorry she had. The pain was searing and immediate, like alcohol being poured into an open wound. She cut the flow off and took a deep breath, rocking back and forth. Bad as she had to pee now, she wasn’t going to be able to hold it for long. Squeezing her eyes closed tight, she let it go, gripping the rim of the nearby sink until the worst of the pain passed.
Angel wiped carefully, mostly patting. She was sore, but she’d survive.
She had to leave here today. She thought about Brody’s offer to stay, and she wasn’t sure if it was for real or not. If it was, would she? Maybe for a while, if it was okay with Sam too. She wouldn’t want to see him sleeping on the couch though, and she had a feeling he wouldn’t put up with that very long anyway, and why should he? This was his home—his and Brody’s. She was the outsider here.
Even if she could stay, she still had to leave—at least to get her money and her clothes. What was she going to wear outside? No shoes, no pants, no coat…
Angel thought of Sam buying her a coat. It was sweet. It didn’t matter if it was the ugliest coat in the world; she would cherish it. For several moments she tried to remember the last time she had received a present. Christmas, maybe? It was many years ago. Angel tried to remember what year it was or what the gift had been, but she’d been a child then.
So many things had happened since that it hardly seemed a real memory, as if the chubby girl in the red velvet holiday dresses never existed. But she had. She’d existed and she’d suffered, and she’d learned to keep her mouth shut about everything and just endure. Only a tiny seed of hate grew in that girl. Angel had been weak then. It was only when that hatred grew into a weed that Angel had become strong. Hatred had given her strength.
She would have never left home had it not been for that hatred. That hatred of Paul had forced her to become who she was. The shy little girl would have preferred to exist quietly, working a job where she didn’t have to deal with people much. She’d once dreamed of a career caring for animals. Life, apparently, had a cruel sense of humor.
She stood up and hugged the shirt around her. Sam’s shirt, warm against her skin, the pleasant, comforting scent of him like an embrace. He smelled good, and it wasn’t cologne, it was just…him.
She flushed the toilet, thinking how terribly loud it sounded with him sleeping right outside the door.
Sam was awake when she went out. He’d scooted back on the sofa, half lying, half sitting up. He blinked at her with bleary eyes.
“Morning,” he mumbled. Dark hair spilled down into his eyes and over his broad shoulders. A sliver of sunlight from a small window by the sink drew a line on his bare chest. Did he know how beautiful he was? Probably. Men who looked like him had to know. He certainly didn’t have to worry about feeling insecure. That must be a good feeling. Maybe it wasn’t a feeling at all—insecurity was probably something a man like Sam had never given any consideration to.
“It’s afternoon, I think,” she said.
“How you feeling?”
“Okay… A little sore.”
“You have a lot of bruises. They always hurt worse the next day. I used to box. Just…you know, just amateur shit. I wasn’t very good. There were days after fights when I could barely move.” He smiled a little. “My shirt looks nice on you.”
“I’m sorry. I needed something to put on.”
“Don’t apologize. Like I said, it looks good.” He swung his feet off the couch and sat up, giving a pat on the dingy, stained cushions beside him. “Have a seat.”
She felt nervous all of a sudden as she sat down.
“Brody still sleeping?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
Sam shook his head. “He could sleep twenty hours a day and still be tired.” Sam’s eyes had such a deep sadness in them; even when he smiled, his eyes never did.
“He loves you,” Angel said, and guilt began to burn in her for kissing Brody. She hadn’t been a prostitute long, but apparently it had been long enough to distort her common sense. She’d been kissing Brody just a short while ago, and now she was sitting here thinking about how good Sam looked. Meanwhile Brody and Sam would be in that bedroom together if she wasn’t here like some wedge between them.
“What?”
“Brody…he loves you.”
Sam linked his hands behind his head and leaned back. “Really? So, what are you? A hobby? A fucking pastime? If Brody loved me, he wouldn’t have spent the night screwing you.”
“He didn’t. I kissed him, or maybe he kissed me, I don’t know. I do know that nothing else happened.” The confession made her feel a little better, but she’d had no business kissing Brody in the first place. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have…”
Sam stared at her, like he thought if he just looked hard enough that he could see the truth. She wanted him to see. Brody did love him. Why he’d ever wanted her to kiss him made no sense, especially when he had someone like Sam. Whatever their problems, she felt in her heart that they loved each other. They belonged together.
Why are you here? You are just in their way. Quit looking at Sam, quit dreaming. She should leave. Now. But the whole not having any clothes thing made it rather difficult to make a speedy exit. Maybe one of them had a pair of sweatpants or something she could borrow. She sat fidgeting on the sofa—stuck. That was it. She was stuck here.
There was something else. Something that made her feel funny. Immediately, instinctively, something about Sam drew her in. Something beyond his drop-dead gorgeous looks and those soulful, sad brown eyes.
“Nothing else happened between me and Brody.”
“Not yet, huh?” Sam said. “Poor Brody. He’s losing his touch. It never used to take him that long. He’s rusty, I guess. He’s been wasting away on fucking drugs for too long. He does women, you know. That’s okay. I mean, I never said he couldn’t, so if I’m what’s holding you back, don’t worry about it.”
“Actually, he asked me if I’d be with you.”
The color drained from Sam’s face, and Angel looked down at her raggedy nails.
“I told him I would…you know? Either of you. I pretty much owe him my life, so anytime you want, you just let me know.” She picked at a chip of nail polish, debating on whether or not to tell him the truth. He seemed so angry right now; maybe if he knew the truth, he’d understand. “The thing is…I can’t yet. That guy, last night…he didn’t rob me. I didn’t have any money on me. It’s all hidden at the place I was staying. Anyway…he didn’t rob me. He…”
“What’d he do?”
The sliver of polish broke away. “He raped me—and before you say anything sarcastic, no, I don’t mean he just fucked me and didn’t pay. I mean he hurt me.” Angel swallowed, determined not to cry.
“I need a couple of days maybe.” Angel looked up at him, feeling strangely shy. “I’m not trying to get out of doing it, just so you know.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t fucking believe this!”
She looked away, not liking the anger in his voice.
“Look at me!” Angel met his gaze. There was rage in his eyes.
&nb
sp; “Brody’s playing a game… Some kind of fucking head trip. The last thing I need is a charity fuck from a fucking whore. I’ve got enough problems.”
Though he spoke the truth, the words still stung. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him!
She got up and made sure she didn’t look in his direction as hot, angry tears formed in her eyes. “You can just keep that fucking coat.” She had been stupid to think he’d stopped to talk to her because he really wanted to. He was gorgeous, and she was…well, she wasn’t even pretty. And as he and Brody kept graciously pointing out, she was a whore. If Sam decided he wanted to screw a woman, he certainly didn’t need a whore. “I don’t want anything from you.” She clawed at the bottom of the shirt she was wearing. “In fact, here.” Angel jerked the shirt over her head and threw it in his direction as hard as she could. It landed next to him in a ball on the sofa. “There’s your fucking shirt back too. You might want to wash it before you—”
He stood and grabbed her on either side of her arms. His strong grip against her bruises made her immediately go still. Her arms ached to the bone, and the pain reminded her of last night. She looked at him wide-eyed, and she did not move, hoping he’d let go.
“Stop it, okay? I don’t want to fight with you,” Sam said. “I just… Damn. I can’t believe Brody… I mean I can’t.” He stopped talking, and his brows creased. His hands tightened on her upper arms, and the pain became intolerable.
“Please. It hurts.” Tears sprang to her eyes, but she tried to regain her composure.
Concern etched Sam’s face as he released his grip. His fingers gently traced the black-and-blue marks on her shoulder.
“He hit you,” Sam said. “What else did he do? The one who raped you?” Any anger he’d had was gone. Angel saw only tenderness and compassion in his face.
She shook her head violently. “I don’t… Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry.” He rubbed her arm as though he could erase the pain. She wished he could, wished she could just forget about Bobby and the things he had done. If only it was that simple.
Sam stared into her eyes, his head bowed toward her.
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