by A. J. Downey
I gave Dahlia the first cup of coffee. Tic-Tac and I looked tired, sure, but Dahlia looked like absolute death had nearly claimed her and though I didn’t know the full story, I got the impression that it very nearly had. Tic-Tac came in from the bathroom and I poured him the second cup, not even waiting for the carafe of the coffeemaker to fill all the way.
I had to wait for my cup, but that was okay. I’d gotten more sleep than anyone. Granted it was broken sleep, but I’d still gotten more.
“Feel like talking about it?” I asked when Dahlia’s eyes had gone distant and she looked like she’d gotten a little lost in whatever had happened last night.
“No,” she said, sucking in a deep breath. She again put on a smile, more genuine than the last in its tiredness. The regret it displayed was probably only the second fully genuine emotion I’d ever read on her face, aside from the pure anger she’d displayed when she’d crashed the party for two Mav and I were having in his office a couple of weeks back.
“You’re sure?” I asked, giving her one last opportunity to get it off her chest.
“Ah, I think we’re of two different schools of thought, you and I,” she declared, wrapping her hands around her steaming mug and bringing it to her lips.
“Yeah? How’s that?” I asked without looking, finally able to pour myself a cup.
“I’m not one of those new age, talk about your feelings types,” she said, waving me off.
“I’m not either,” I said frowning.
“You sure about that?” Tic-Tac asked, snorting a laugh into his coffee.
“Why, because I can talk to Mav?” I asked, stirring sugar into my drink.
“They’re just being assholes, Zaychik,” Maverick declared from the kitchen entryway.
I dropped what I was doing to pour him a cup of coffee and to fix it to his liking. He slid up onto the stool beside Dahlia’s while Tic-Tac just sort of stood around behind them both.
“We’re not being assholes,” Dahlia said, waving him off with a gesture of her hand and a roll of her eyes.
“Bullshit,” Mav said and his tone brooked no argument. “You’re trying to imply she’s soft and she’s not,” he said and I rolled my own eyes, setting his coffee down in front of him.
“She’s also standing right fucking here and is getting sick of people talking like she isn’t,” I said with a fake plastic smile to rival one of Dahlia’s.
“Point well made, baby. I apologize,” Maverick said, blowing on his coffee.
Dahlia and Tic-Tac traded a look and I kept my smile hidden by the rim of my own mug.
“Anybody want some actual breakfast?” I asked after taking a swallow of my coffee.
“I’m good with just this,” Tic-Tac said, his own tone a mix of subdued and mildly interested, certainly not about breakfast though. I think Maverick had somehow just drawn a line in the sand with them both where I was concerned, because Dahlia was openly staring at him and I couldn’t even begin to describe the look on her face. I would be lying if I said it didn’t bring a little savage glee to my heart to see it, though.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Maverick…
The message came in on a night where the rain was coming down and I’d forgone the club to spend some time, just me and my girl, at home.
We were lying on the couch, Marisol leaning back against me, a blanket thrown over us as we watched some movie or show on television. It had her laughing, but I wasn’t entirely paying attention. I was expecting this message and the subsequent FaceTime that was about to go down.
It was a necessary evil in order for myself and my woman to move on.
Those three little words on the screen seemed innocuous, but I knew they meant a world of hurt – whose pain, precisely, remained yet to be seen.
We got him.
“Baby, pause that for a minute for me, k?”
“What? Oh, sure.” She paused the television and rolled her head back on her elegant neck, moving those honey-kissed eyes up to mine.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Depends,” I said and sighed. “Just a sec.”
I put the video call through and Fenris picked up, his rugged mug filling the screen.
“Talk to me,” I said and held the phone out far enough so Marisol could see too.
“Hey, baby doll,” Fen said and Marisol shifted in my lap.
“Hey, what’s going on?” she asked.
“Need you to make a decision for me,” he said and she looked up to me. I shook my head.
“This is all you, Zaychik.”
“Ooookaaay.” She drew the word out long. “What’s going on?” She turned back to Fen who sighed heavily and shifted the phone.
They were in a garage somewhere, an industrial sort, and a man hung from chains from the vehicle lift. Marisol sucked in a sharp breath as she recognized him, and I felt bile rise in the back of my throat.
The dude was Mexican, a laborer by the looks of it, his face cragged partially from being older and partially from too much time spent under the punishing sun. He had a paunch hanging over his belt, and his chest was sort of sunken. His hair was hanging in there, but sort of greasy, and his beard was a patchy, half-assed effort.
He wasn’t too roughed up yet. Yet being the operative word. The phone tipped, the camera whizzing and going crazy for a second before it settled back on Fen’s serious expression.
“What do you want us to do with him?” Fenris asked.
Marisol swallowed so hard it made an audible click and she looked up at me, a mixture of sadness and horror in her eyes etched into every curve and plane of her lovely face.
Again, I shook my head.
“This decision is all yours, baby. I can’t make it for you.”
“Where are they?” she asked me. “Can we go there?”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Fenris asked and I turned my attention back to my enforcer and said, “Let’s hear her out.”
“I don’t know,” she said visibly rattled. “I mean, all I know is it’s not right that you all should have to deal with this without me actually there, right?” she asked.
“It’s our pleasure,” Dump Truck rumbled from somewhere nearby on the other end.
“Absolutely, our pleasure,” I heard Glass Jaw say.
“You don’t want to be here for this,” Fenris said gently, his light blue eyes stormy. “You just need to say the word. Let him hear you say it, that’s enough.”
“Hold the phone up?” I asked and Fenris went over, closer to the gagged man hanging by his wrists. He held up the phone and the dude’s eyes widened, nostril’s flaring. Marisol took the phone from me and sat up.
Calmly she spoke in Spanish to the man, her uncle, her rapist and his eyes widened even more, tears leaking from them as he made muffled little ‘mm-mm-mm’ noises.
“Fenris, can you still hear me?” Marisol asked.
“Loud and clear, little lady,” he called.
“Do whatever you want,” she said judiciously. “I just never want to worry about seeing him again.”
The phone turned and Fen stared into the screen, searching her face in the little rectangle.
“You got it,” he said. “Never is the operative word, I give you my word.”
Marisol bit her lips together, raising her chin imperiously and nodded.
“You heard the lady,” Dump Truck declared and with a little salute past Marisol at me, Fen cut the line.
She sat stalk still for the longest time and I put my hand to the back of her shoulder.
“Don’t!” she said sharply and jerked away.
“I want to help you,” I said low and careful, trying to be soothing without coming off as placating or insincere.
“I don’t know how you can help,” she said and her whole body trembled like she was fighting off being sick – and who knew, maybe she was. We’d been down that road before once already.
“I’m gonna be sick,” she declared and leaped to her feet. She
raced for the bathroom while I struggled to sit up. My damn couch was comfortable, sure, but it had a bad habit of swallowing anyone who sat on it whole.
I got to my feet and went up the hall, relieved that she hadn’t shut me out this time.
I didn’t say anything. I mean, what the fuck could I say? So, instead, I slipped past where she kneeled in front of our toilet retching and grabbed a clean washcloth, wetting it at the sink with cold water from the tap, wringing it out and folding it into thirds.
I went to my little rabbit and warned her gently, “This is gonna be cold, but it’ll help you feel better.” She nodded, spitting into the porcelain bowl and I lifted her long hair aside, laying the cold cloth on the back of her neck where I pressed it against her firmly with my hand.
“Oh, thank you,” she said, and I nodded.
“You just take your time,” I told her when she shifted on her knees. She settled and I said, “I’m gonna get you your toothbrush, hang on a second and don’t move.”
“Kay,” she said, her voice brittle.
“I’m also gonna draw you a bath,” I said and cut off her protest with, “No arguing.”
“Okay,” she said a little stronger as I loaded her toothbrush with paste and ran it under some fresh cold water. I handed it down to her and she stuck it in her mouth.
“Don’t get up until you feel for sure you’re ready.”
She mumbled something around the brush in her mouth and I asked, “What?”
She looked up at me and said, “I asked if you would flush the toilet.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” I pulled the chain above her head, just out of her reach for her and sent the mess in the bowl swirling, getting it out of her face.
While she sat still on the floor and brushed her teeth, I set about getting her a bath ready which honestly didn’t take much, just get the water going and throw in one of those compressed powder bomb things that fizzed like a motherfucker and left my tub looking like someone slaughtered a unicorn in it.
I didn’t mind. She always cleaned up after herself with them. The glitter kind of got everywhere sometimes, which that could sometimes be a bitch. Still, I guess it really was love when I thought about it. Not minding when they got fuckin’ glitter everywhere? How the hell else could you tell if you really loved a woman?
She groaned, getting to her feet, and went over to the sink; turning on the tap to spit the froth of toothpaste in her mouth down the drain. I stuck my hand out and she reached out and took it after dropping her brush in the glass that held them.
“Too hot?” I asked her, drawing her near. She sat down on the edge of the tub beside me and reached out to check the water’s temperature.
“A little,” she murmured.
“Can I touch you, or would you rather do it yourself?” I asked.
She jerked her head and looked slightly horrified.
“Of course, you can touch me!” she declared.
“Wasn’t sure, babe. It was a different story back at the lake.”
She looked embarrassed.
“That whole thing was out of the ordinary,” she said. “I’m really sorry if I made you feel like—”
“Hey, no, hush that beautiful mouth of yours,” I said. “I get it. Really, I do.”
“Yeah?” she asked meekly.
“Yeah, absolutely. I do,” I said, nodding gravely.
She sighed and said, “Thank you,” her gratitude palpable and in its own way heartbreaking. I mean, for fuck’s sake, any time anybody showed even a little bit of kindness or understanding to the woman, she was so grateful. It really put some shit into perspective on how much a lot of us took for granted.
She let me take the hem of her tee, lifting her arms over her head so I could sweep it up and off her body. I undressed her gently, hands careful, placing a light touch of my lips here and there as occasion and mood called for it.
I lived for each sharp intake of breath as my lips fell against her sun-kissed bronze skin, and even though I was hard, I ignored that part of me for the time being. This wasn’t about me. This was about her and her comfort, about the ritual washing her past away to make way for a brighter future with us, with me… About getting the stain out of her soul left behind by that monster, who by night’s end would be the dust of distant memory if my boys had anything to say about it.
The blood spilled tonight would be on us, and the purifying waters of this bath would keep any more taint off my girl than had already been applied.
There would be plenty more dirt in the future, I was sure. It was part of living this life, but for now, for tonight, I would do my damnedest to keep her clean.
“Aren’t you getting in with me?” she asked when I went to help her over the tall lip of the tub.
I shook my head. “No. Tonight, this is about you.”
I helped lower her into my tub which had been turned into a vat of iridescent white unicorn sparkles, the water swirling in subtle pinks, blues, and purples as the light caught the flecks of whatever in the water to make it glitter.
She lowered herself gingerly into the steaming bath and hugged her knees. I told her to stay put and went for a few things to set the mood for relaxation.
Candles, and a cool glass of white wine from the fridge. I moved around her carefully, quietly, and when I switched out the overhead light, I had to smile at my handiwork – the pure magic of it.
I went to her, brushing her hair, sweeping it up in my hands, twisting it lightly like I’d seen her do a thousand times before I clipped it up off her slender, beautiful shoulders, exposing the sweeping line of her gorgeous back. She sighed and closed her eyes, relishing the careful, caring touches I bestowed on her and I felt like I was on top of the world to be the man to bring even the simplest of pleasures to this beautiful and fabled woman. A goddess in her own right – she just didn’t know it. Couldn’t feel it… and I aimed to changed that one day, one moment at a time.
I sat on a low stool I kept as a step, and a place to set my beer when I was in the tub myself taking a long soak after a long hard ride so that I could tend to my lady.
I washed her back while she rested her cheek atop her knees as she hugged her shins, her eyes drifting shut, a light blush creeping across her nose and cheeks at the gentle attention. Either that, or I was reading too much into things, the blush could very well just have been a deep flush from a slightly too-hot bath.
Something about the peace on her face, the way her expression said she was soaking this up like parched earth soaked in a fresh rain told me I may have been a little too on the money with my first inclination.
We both remained silent, both saturating ourselves in the peace that the warmth, steam, and candlelight brought to us.
It was as near a perfect expression of my love and devotion as I could muster, as intimate as I could get without adding sex to the mix, but it wasn’t about sex. Not tonight. It was about care. It was about giving her what she wanted and needed when no one else would or could.
It was about fulfilling deep and hidden desires that she had no name for but always, instinctively, knew that she needed.
It was about proving to her that men were sworn to protect their women, their families, and that how she’d been raised wasn’t anything close to right or normal. It was about establishing a new normal for her, and to introducing her to the first day of the rest of her life.
Tonight, was about unshackling her from the millstone of shame that’d been dragging her down by the neck for years. A stone of shame that wasn’t hers to bear and never had been.
It was about proving to my woman that she had so much more worth than she’d ever been taught she held.
“It’s time I got off my ass and made you mine in every way that matters,” I murmured.
“Oh?” she asked with a dry chuckle. “Strange way of proposing, if that’s what that is. I mean, isn’t there supposed to be a question mark in there somewhere?”
I shook my head, once left, and once right. “No. M
aking you my property has nothing to do with proposing or marriage, that part comes later. Making you mine, giving you my rag, means anyone even thinks about touching you, they can have their ass beat for it. It means if they ever do touch you, I’ll fucking kill them for it.”
She went very still in the bath, the water tinkling, a high, light, crystalline sound, pure and completely out of step with the shadows gathering in the corners with the newest topic of conversation.
“I don’t understand, I don’t think…”
“In our world, being a man’s property isn’t like one of us going out and buying a cage or a boat,” I explained. “Those are just things. They burn, they fall apart, and you just go out and get another one.”
“Okay.” She drew a shaky breath. “So, belonging to you, being your property is what?”
“It’s permanent, is what it is. At least with me.”
She was quiet, the wheels turning in that beautiful, clever head of hers as she mulled the implications over.
“It means you would die for me?” she asked quietly, and I think she was getting emotional.
“It means I live for you, and only you. It means anyone hurts you, I hurt them. They make you cry; I make them cry. They lay a finger on you, and you don’t take care of it yourself to our mutual satisfaction, I handle it.”
“It means safety?” she asked, and I nodded.
“The likes I don’t think you’ve ever felt,” I said and reached up, cradling her cheek lightly in the palm of my hand, tracing her bottom lip with the pad of my thumb.
“I want that so much,” she whispered. “But at what cost? Everything has its price.”
“Stay with me. Agree to be mine and only mine. Either way, I pledge to protect you, but baby I don’t want any other woman… I want to settle my ass down, figure out what it means to be a one-woman man. I want to go through it all. I want the days you drive me crazy and the days I know no peace until I fall into your arms.”
She sniffed, her bottom lip pouting out beautifully as she kneeled up abruptly. She lunged over the edge of the tub, water sloshing and barely staying contained as she threw her arms around me and sobbed by my ear.