Raw Power

by Jackie Ashenden

  Right before he’d walked the hell out.

  The other man hadn’t followed him, for which Jack was grateful, because after he’d tried to settle the hotel bill—finding it was already settled for him—he’d stormed out into the city, full of rage and a pain that bit deeper than the grenade that had nearly torn him apart.

  Which wasn’t right.

  He was supposed to be feeling better, but he didn’t.

  It was Callie, of course it was Callie.

  He’d let her go and that had been the right decision to make, to give her freedom, not the cage he’d keep her in, not the violence he was capable of, so why he felt like he was being ripped apart by shrapnel all over again, he had no fucking idea.

  He’d wandered around the city for hours, aimless, purposeless, feeling like he was missing part of himself. And then Kellan’s text had come through and since he had nothing better to do, he’d thought he might as well do what the asshole had requested and clear up this legal shit. It was the only reason he’d set foot back at HQ, because he knew he wouldn’t actually be joining the team. He had no interest, not anymore. And anyway, he didn’t want to be part of a team who could dismiss a woman’s life so casually.

  Not because you fucked up. Never that.

  Jack scowled up at the sign. He hadn’t fucked up. He’d saved her. That’s all that counted.

  Gritting his teeth, he finally forced himself up the steps and through the doors, into the seedy-looking bar.

  Except instead of Sabrina behind the bar and a bunch of alcoholics drinking at it, like it had been the first time he’d set foot in it, the place was empty. And instead of football playing on the TV, there was music.

  Familiar music.

  Then he realized the place wasn’t empty after all.

  Down one end of the bar, in the corner, lit by a single spotlight, was a woman sitting on a chair. She was playing a guitar, her golden hair drifting over her shoulders, hiding her features, but that didn’t matter. He knew who she was. He recognized the low, husky sound of her voice as she sang and the song she was singing too.

  He’d know her anywhere. Anywhere at all.

  Callie.

  What the fuck was she doing here?

  His chest seized and he couldn’t breathe, all he could do was stand there, staring at her as she sang her song, the same one he’d heard when he’d walked into the hotel room the previous day. The one that made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Hope, pleasure. Satisfaction.

  Love.

  She sang and he was held there, motionless. Caught by her voice, caught by her song. Because this time it had an ending, soft and bittersweet yet so bright he could hardly stand it.

  As the last notes died away, Callie lifted her head and her gaze met his, sea blue and glowing. “Do you like my ending?” she asked, as if finding him here, the only person in the bar, was exactly what she’d expected. “I finished it just now.”

  “Callie—”

  “I’ve been trying to think of an ending to that song for so long.” Gently she put the guitar down on the floor, then she stood up. “But it wasn’t until I met you that it came to me. I needed you to finish it. I needed you to be the last part of my melody.” She began to close the distance between them, and he knew he should move, tell her not to come any closer. But somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “You’re the dark notes in my song, did you know that? You can’t have brightness without the dark and it didn’t sound right without them. It was too bright, too . . . happy. And I’m not that kind of person.” She came to a halt right in front of him, all warmth and that sugar scent.

  And he was so hungry, so fucking hungry he felt almost dizzy.

  “I’ve got darkness in me and it’s just like yours.” She put out her hand and there it was, sitting over his heart, heating him up right through the cotton of his shirt. “It’s hungry for you, just like I think you’re hungry for the brightness in me.” Her gaze was so piercing. It slid right through him. “We match, Jack. Don’t you see? We’re a complicated melody, but a beautiful one. And without each other, it’s just noise. It’s just meaningless sounds.” Her gaze became liquid. “I want that melody. I want you. I love you. And you have to know that loving you makes me feel free.” A tear rolled down her cheek, then another. “There’s no cage. There’s no trap. There’s just you and you don’t scare me. You make me feel strong and you make me feel precious, and you make me feel like I can do anything I want. And that’s freedom, Jack. That’s the freedom I want. And that’s the choice I made.”

  He could feel the words hitting him, each one like a note of that song, falling into him, settling down into his bones.

  He didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to let go of the fear inside him, of the doubt. He’d been holding on to it so long he didn’t know how. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he forced out roughly. “And I’m afraid I will. I’m afraid I’ll do to you what your father did. I’m afraid I’ll fail you like I failed Molly.”

  Another tear rolled down Callie’s cheek and she put out her hand, touched the hard scars on his face so gently. And she smiled. “I know. But you’re not my father and you’re not yours. And you haven’t failed me, not once. You don’t need to do anything, Jack. All you need to be is you.” Her thumb moved on his jaw, a gentle stroke. “Trust me on this.”

  And finally something shook loose inside him. He didn’t know what it was, maybe her conviction, maybe her certainty. Maybe it was merely that letting her go before had just about killed him, and he didn’t have the energy to fight her any longer.

  But whatever it was, the final rope binding him was suddenly cut loose.

  “Okay,” he said thickly. “I’ll try. But you’re going to have to help me.”

  Then he put out his arms and swept her up into them.

  * * *

  Callie could feel his heart beating hard and fast against her cheek, his breath against her hair, his big, hard body surrounding her, holding her.

  And she thought she might cry again, just from relief. From happiness.

  Her idea to play for him had been a gamble, because he wasn’t a man who had the same appreciation for music that she did. But music was in her bones and in her soul. It was who she was. And she knew he recognized that.

  So she’d told Faith she was going to need the bar and some privacy. A spotlight and a stool. All she’d been missing was Jack.

  Fundamentally, she didn’t much care if he still didn’t want to join the 11th Hour after this. As long as he came back to her, as long as he was hers, that was all that counted.

  And he had come back.

  She closed her eyes, relaxing into him, letting the familiar heat of him seep into her, soothe away the last of her doubts.

  “I’m sorry,” he said roughly, his voice rumbling in his chest. “I should never have sent you away like that. I was . . . afraid for you. Fuck, I was probably afraid for myself. Afraid of what I felt for you, especially what my dad fucking did with love.”

  “That wasn’t love,” she murmured against his chest. “You know that, right?”

  Jack’s fingers tangled in her hair as he drew her head back, the brilliant green of his eyes glittering. “Yeah, I think I do. Love was that song, wasn’t it?”

  More tears filled her eyes. He’d heard. He’d recognized the emotion in her song. “Yes. It was.”

  His mouth turned up, a rare heart-stopping smile. “I can’t sing, Princess. I can’t fucking sing to save my life. So my love song is only this. I love you. I’ll do anything at all for you. And if you say there’s freedom in it, I’ll believe you.”

  And she felt it, the tip of that spear in her heart, melting away and taking the last of the pain with it.

  “It’s enough,” she said softly. “It’s all I need.”

  And when he kissed her, it finally was.

  She wanted to keep that kiss going forever, but she’d made a bargain and now it was time to honor her part of it. So she pushed at him ge
ntly, making him raise his head.

  “I have a confession to make,” she admitted, keeping her palms pressed to the hot wall of his chest. “You’re not here by accident.”

  “Yeah, you being here did make me wonder.” There was a hungry light in his eyes. “Not that I give a fuck right now about anything except getting you naked.”

  Callie swallowed. “Okay, so here’s the deal. Faith wanted me to get you here and convince you any way I could to join the 11th Hour.”

  Jack said nothing for a second, his gaze moving over her, deep and dark and hot. “I can think of a few ways you could convince me.”

  “I bet you can.” Her heartbeat started to race. “Perhaps we should wait—”

  “Nope.” His arms tightened around her and abruptly she was lifted off her feet and carried over to one of the booth seats. “When it comes to a deal, you have to strike while the iron is hot, stuff like that.”

  She grinned as he set her down on the seat and she pushed herself back. “And is the iron hot now?”

  “Princess,” Jack said as he put his hands on her hips. “That iron is so fucking hot, if you don’t cool it down now, I’m going to explode.”

  So she laughed and reached for him, and in the end she convinced him, though he didn’t make it easy for her, which she thought he did on purpose.

  And much, much later, when the noise from the crowds on the sidewalk outside had died down, and she was lying on the booth seat in his arms, warm and sated, and blissfully happy, she said, “So, where do we go from here?”

  “Wherever you want, Princess.”

  “I don’t know if I want to go anywhere. I think I just want to stay right here with you.”

  He tightened his arms around her and in his smile, she found the freedom she’d always been searching for. “Then we will.”

  The freedom they’d both been searching for.

  EPILOGUE

  “And over here is the gym.” Kellan gestured to the cluster of machines in one corner of the 11th Hour’s HQ.

  “No fucking kidding,” Jack muttered.

  Kellan ignored him, pointing over to the desks where all the computers and screens were. “And over there, is our control center.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Jack was impatient now. This orientation bullshit that Faith had insisted on was getting old.

  “Over there,” Kellan went on, as if Jack hadn’t said a word, “is the R&R area.” He pointed to where all the couches were and the recliner that Isiah seemed permanently embedded in.

  Callie was sitting on the couch, her guitar on her knees, showing an interested-looking Isiah some chord changes.

  It hadn’t been long since Jack had agreed to accept a position with the 11th Hour team. But he’d insisted that he wasn’t going to take on any jobs until he’d had at least a week alone with Callie, in the privacy of his own house.

  That had been deemed acceptable, so that’s exactly what he and Callie had done, spending most of the week in his bedroom and only coming up for air to eat, to get some fresh air at the beach, and to argue about Callie’s clothes lying all over the floor. Arguments that generally ended back where they started. In bed.

  It was good. It felt right. More right than anything else in his life ever had.

  And then it had got even better, with Callie starting to investigate local colleges and their music departments, because she was eager to start a music degree. She’d also been surprised by the 11th Hour team paying her a retainer because her knowledge of East Coast old-money families could prove very useful to them.

  Yeah, it was good. Callie was finding herself, finding her freedom, and even though it was hard to give her the space sometimes, he made himself do it. Because he loved her. Because she was important to him.

  And the more he did it, the easier it got.

  Shit, she could even spend a night away from him without him wanting to call her every five seconds. Probably.

  She looked up from her position on the couch and smiled at him. And his heart felt like it was bursting right out of his chest.

  Because he’d found the thing he’d been looking for the day he’d first picked up Faith’s card.

  A purpose. And that purpose wasn’t this team. It was Callie.

  “I trust Kellan’s shown you everything?” Faith said, appearing suddenly at Kellan’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you could join us.”

  Jack never took his eyes off the woman sitting on the couch. “Yeah, someone was pretty convincing.”

  “I bet,” Kellan muttered.

  But Faith only smiled. “Welcome to the 11th Hour, Mr. King.”

  Acknowledgments

  To my editor and my agent, and to the wonderful support people in my life. As ever, thank you.

  If you enjoyed Raw Power, be sure not to miss Jackie Ashenden’s scorching Motor City Royals series, including

  DIRTY FOR ME

  Ezekiel “Zee” West has a complicated past. Born into a family whose wealth grew from the seedy world of big-time crime, he ran away as a teenager and made a home for himself on the streets of Detroit. By day, the mechanic works at a local garage. But by night, he throws down with the best of them in Detroit’s gritty underground fighting scene. With all those muscles, he’s never had trouble with women—until he meets one who challenges him to the greatest fight of his life....

  Tamara is a hardworking corporate high-flyer who appreciates the finer things in life, from her expensive perfume to her designer handbags. More than anything, though, she likes to be in control—and when Zee explodes into her life, she feels anything but. He’s the definition of a bad boy: brash, fiery, and of course, irresistibly hot. And there’s a darkness about him that keeps her coming back for more. As Zee takes Tamara deeper into a world she never knew existed, she just might prove to be the one opponent he won’t be able to dominate—at least not without some pleasurable convincing....

  Keep reading for a special excerpt.

  A Kensington trade paperback and e-book on sale now!

  CHAPTER 1

  “Here?” Tamara Lennox turned around to give her friend Rose an incredulous look as they got out of the taxi. “Really?”

  Rose’s brown eyes glittered in the neon-painted darkness of the Detroit night. She was looking at the building in front them, a big, broken-down warehouse, its brick walls thick with graffiti and some of the windows smashed and boarded up. A narrow doorway led into the building, a small sign above that read ROYAL ROAD GYM—the only signal they’d reached the right place.

  “Yeah.” Rose gave her a naughty grin. “Really.”

  “Great,” Tamara muttered.

  She liked Rose, she really did. She hadn’t made many friends at Lennox Investments, where she’d been interning for the past six months, because she hadn’t had time to make any. She’d been concentrating too hard on work. Yet Rose had brushed aside all her refusals, approaching friendship with Tamara the way she approached everything—aggressively. Yeah, Rose was great. But there were times when Tamara really questioned the other woman’s judgment.

  Such as now, as they stood on the sidewalk in the middle of one of Detroit’s shadier neighborhoods, on a hot Wednesday night, and all because Rose had heard about the even hotter instructor who taught women’s self-defense classes.

  Tamara let out a breath, staring at the shitty-looking building ahead of them. Well, she couldn’t say she was surprised. Rose wasn’t serious about much except when it came to men. And she was deadly serious about men.

  Her friend narrowed her gaze at Tamara, giving her outfit a disapproving glance. “You should be joining in, you know.”

  Tamara pulled a face. Obviously the soft, dark blue designer jeans and white cashmere blend T-shirt she’d gotten on a Barneys shopping trip the last time she’d been in New York visiting Robert weren’t exactly appropriate self-defense wear. But then she wasn’t the one taking the classes.

  “Moral support only,” Tamara said, closing her fingers around the strap of her Lo
uis Vuitton purse. “I told you. That’s the only reason I’m here.” Starting to feel a little bit too downtown and out of place, she carefully turned the distinctive monogram on the flap of her purse inward so it was less conspicuous.

  “And I appreciate it, Tam, you know I do.” Rose turned toward the gym doorway. “But what are you going to do for an hour? I don’t think waiting on the sidewalk would work around here.”

  That went without saying. Here and there, Tamara could see signs of revitalization: a new building a couple of blocks away, the looming spike of a crane signaling construction, a cleaned-up old building with bright new signs flashing in the windows. But there were also too many boarded-up doorways, broken-up sidewalks, and seedy-looking sex shops to make a woman feel safe waiting around at night by herself.

  A strange little thrill crawled down her spine, a prowling restlessness pacing under her skin.

  She couldn’t say why she’d come with Rose tonight, because she had a lot of work she had to get through and Royal Road wasn’t exactly a top tourist destination. She wasn’t too keen on the thought of learning self-defense either. Getting hot and sweaty with a bunch of strangers didn’t thrill her and she avoided gym classes for precisely that reason.

  Yet as soon as her friend had mentioned it, something had shivered through her, that restlessness. It had been dogging her for weeks now and where it had come from she didn’t know. But she’d suddenly felt a little suffocated by her apartment. Like the walls were closing in. Like she needed to get out, feel some of that vibrant Detroit energy run through her like a current. Recharge herself.

  She’d been working too hard.

  Perhaps she should have tried to dress down a little more. Then again, it wasn’t like she was swanning around in a cocktail dress. It was only jeans and a tee.

  “I’ve got my phone.” Tamara patted her purse. “I’ll catch up on some work e-mails.”

  Rose shook her head. “You’re way too dedicated, man.”