Twist My Heart

by Brooke Taylor

  “You’re not ready for this one.”

  I leaned across the table, laughing as I wrestled it from his grip. His sudden release gave me pause, but I removed the cap and shook some of the orange liquid onto the hash browns. Despite the smell prickling the inside of my nose, I boldly took a bite. The split in my lip caught fire first—nerve endings screaming as if pulled apart. A bitter heat scoured my tongue. “Ugh, yuck, no! Make it stop!”

  Laughing, he slid the water glass in front of me. I swished the cold liquid throughout my mouth as he asked, “Better?”

  “No, it’s still there. I need bacon. Get me bacon.”

  His laughter boomed through the nearly empty restaurant, drawing curious looks from the other customers. “Nice try. No bacon, rookie.”

  By the time we’d gotten to the sweet roll my cheeks were already sore from smiling and laughing. “Close your eyes for this one,” he commanded.

  I reluctantly complied, worried he’d give me a shot of nasty Tabasco stuff while I wasn’t watching. A sweet scent with a warm depth tickled my senses. Definitely not Tabasco. It took me back to the moment when I’d first opened my eyes to find him leaning over me and telling me to stay with him.

  “Smell good?”

  “Very.” As I drew in another deep breath, the corners of my mouth turned up. “It reminds me of something.”

  “A memory? Of what?”

  I exhaled, lifting my eyelids slowly, bringing his face into view as I admitted, “You.”

  “Eyes closed,” he scolded.

  I obediently squeezed them shut.

  I expected frustration since the recollection wasn’t from before the tornado, but there was a lift to his voice when he eventually asked, “I smell like cinnamon and sugar?”

  “Your breath kind of did…when you saved me.”

  The soft sound of his breathing paused. Then he chuckled. “I’d been eating Fireballs by the handful. You’ve got a good nose. Okay, open your mouth.”

  I gripped the table in anticipation, my lips parting as I leaned forward.

  “Wider…” From the tight, gritty sound of his voice, I felt certain his jaw was ticking hard. “Tongue out.”

  The corners of my mouth lifted at the sound of his breathy groan when I complied. Fingertips ghosted between my lips as he deposited the piece he’d carefully dissected for ‘maximum taste bud exposure’ into my mouth. “Savor it.”

  It melted over my tongue as I closed down on it. The gooey, warm bread spread out, filling my mouth with a heavenly, creamy sweetness. I took my time, enjoying each nuance, sighing after it passed completely down my throat. Eager for another bite, I opened my eyes to catch him finishing the rest of it off.

  “That was a trick!” I wailed, realizing why he’d made me close my eyes. “Wanda! We’ll need another sweet roll and a side of bacon!”

  “Not this round, ma’am. Time for lunch.”

  By the time I’d tried everything, my stomach was painfully full of food and my heart ached with gratitude. Watching Wanda’s expressions as she’d come to take dirty plates away, I could tell this wasn’t normal. People didn’t do this. From her smiles, mostly at Nik, I knew she had no idea what was going on, but she sensed his kindness, his generous spirit. And I knew Nik wasn’t normal either. He was special. What he was doing for me was above and beyond anything anyone else would’ve.

  What had I done to deserve his kindness? I’d been nothing but a chore for him. I blinked back the wetness pooling in my eyes from the rush of warm emotions.

  “My God, that was amazing.” Nik wiped his mouth one last time with the cloth napkin as he leaned back, stretching his body out. He was too busy handing the last of the plates and our dirty napkins over to Wanda to notice my eyes blinking or my lips twitching as I fought back tears.

  “Oh, we’ll also need a triple cheeseburger—no bun, no veggies, no condiments—to go as well.” He turned back to me. “Can’t forget about Titan, can we?”

  With that, I lost what little control I’d had over my face.

  Chapter Nine

  Nik slid his gaze across the table, expecting to be rewarded with one of Tigger’s multitude of captivating smiles. The slow, soft curious one where the tip of her pink tongue would peek out from the white edges of her teeth as the corners of her mouth rose. The oh-man-this-is-heaven one that started as a dance of gold in her eyes.

  He’d been mesmerized by each and every variation for the past hour. But now she crinkled her nose like a sniffing rabbit. Brow furrowing in confusion, she tried to speak, but the words wedged in her throat and only came out as a squeak.

  “Oh shit, what’s wrong?”

  Her chin started trembling as her cheeks grew red and puffed out. Had she eaten something she was allergic to?

  “Na…na…na…nothing’s wrong.” She sniffled.

  Nothing’s wrong? Then why…? No no no…not…

  Her eyes blurred before tears trickled down her cheeks. Crap. She was leaking.

  “Don’t cry,” he said, feeling about as useless as if he’d told her to watch her step after she’d already tripped.

  Nik pushed out a deep breath. Crying females weren’t exactly an extinct species in his world, but usually they were pissed off crying females, and those were much easier to defend against. This… This sentimental shit was like advanced warfare, requiring bomb diffusion techniques that went well beyond his training level.

  He grappled for napkins, but the damn container was stuffed beyond reasonable capacity and the thin useless scraps tore into smaller, more useless scraps.

  Damn it, where’s Wanda?

  He needed backup. Now.

  Nik could handle taking bullets, broken bones, waterboarding, being stranded in the mountains of Afghanistan with Coop, a nasty-breathed BUD/S instructor barking orders in his face, two hundred push-ups eating saltwater and sand in Coronado…but not this. Not from Tigger. Where was that damn quitter’s bell when he needed it?

  “Seriously. Stop crying,” he commanded. “Now.”

  “I… I…can’t.” The sniffing came harder. Scrubbing her balled-up fists against her reddened eyes did nothing to stop the dribbling, it only made it spread. Then he realized she was on the move, scooting out of the booth.

  Oh shit… Incoming.

  He maneuvered quickly, like the trained assassin he was, but after the huge meal it wasn’t fast enough. He barely got his knees freed from under the table. Stupid booth. Before he could stand and get distance, her body wedged between his legs and her arms came around his neck. Was she trying to strangle him? Strangle, hug…same difference. He’d rather she’d rammed a KA-BAR blade into his ribs. He’d at least know how to handle a knife attack as opposed to this…this…fire licking up his neck.

  Had Wanda turned up the heat?

  Why was his pulse pounding? His blood racing? Fucking hell, was he having a heart attack?

  ‘You don’t have one of those, you steel-hearted fool,’ his buddy Coop would’ve reminded him.

  Thank God he didn’t, because it sure as hell felt like his ribs were caving in on some pathetically fragile organ. He fixed his eyes on the nearest exit door—Get off the X. Get some fresh air. Clear your head. He splayed his hand out to pat…pat…pat…her back. There there and all that.

  It really wasn’t a big deal, he started to explain before attempting to set her aside so he could bolt for the back door. But as he rose, one whiff of the warm skin on her neck took him down quicker than a sniper’s bullet. Her scent snaked into his lungs like deliciously disorienting smoke. Whoa. It spread, filling him with the calming sedation of some damn good, pain-killing drugs.

  Eager for more, he skimmed his hands down her back…her waist…her hip… He splayed his fingers behind her thighs and scooped her up into his lap. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her closer, her body curling into his. Breathing in, he took another deep hit off her. Right against her flesh. Fuck yeah, that’s some good shit.

  His forehead fell, resting on her s
houlder as if she were the one meant to comfort him. Hell, being in the circle of her small arms seemed the safest place in the entire world. And it’d been way too long since anywhere in this world felt truly safe.

  He swallowed back all the thoughts he kept tightly guarded, all the long-ago memories of holding someone like this, all the false notions of security. But the walls he’d built up inside himself years ago shimmied as if pounded by mortar strikes.

  Cora.

  Nik couldn’t make the world safe for her any more than this girl could make it safe for him. As much as he wanted to stay drugged up and enveloped in a warmth he’d long shut away and forgotten, he couldn’t risk the crush of those walls coming down all because a few pretty feelings got stirred up.

  The jingle of bells snapped Nik’s eyes open. Being caught half out of the booth had left his back to the front door—the worst possible position. He craned his neck, the corner of his eye picking up a woman waiting to be seated. Her hand trembled, her eyes wide.

  With a whoosh of warm air, the back door opened. Nik’s gaze pivoted to the man entering through it. A tinge of blood smeared his rolled-up, white shirtsleeves. Where the woman appeared distraught, the man’s energy fired with aggression, anger. Their unusual behavior sent up red flags in Nik’s already concerned mind. His right hand went to his Sig.

  With a curt nod, the man maneuvered between the truck driver’s chair and the salesman’s table. He wrapped an arm awkwardly to his back and extracted a slim, black, rectangular object. The way he held it close to his thigh blocked it from Nik’s sight.

  Sliding his free hand up Tigger’s spine to the base of her neck, Nik tucked her closer into his chest. The move also left him in position to thrust her body quickly to the floor, should the man produce a weapon.

  Seconds ground out, everything around Nik slowed as his attention volleyed between the new patrons. The woman moved forward. Her unsteady gaze traveled up Tigger’s back to Nik’s hand before meeting Nik’s eye. She shot him an awkward, almost apologetic smile before joining the man at a booth across the aisle from Nik. The unknown object was now even more protected from view. Nik’s fingers closed around his Sig, but he kept it holstered. The salesman’s head lined up directly behind the man’s upper body. Nik would need to get creative to get a safe shot.

  A noise sounded. A slap. The man dropped, sliding into the booth. Nik got a clear look at the object—a leather, checkbook-style wallet resting on the middle of the table. The jangle of keys sliding across the yellow laminate tabletop followed. With a snap of his fingers, the man summoned Wanda. The woman, still visibly distressed, chastised his rudeness.

  “Don’t even start on me until I’ve had two cups of coffee,” he muttered.

  “How can you drink coffee? I can’t stop shaking. You almost killed us!”

  “Not like I meant to! Damn cow in the middle of the highway. Of all the luck.”

  Angling his head, Nik sighted the couple’s motorhome parked in the street alongside the diner. Corroborating the man’s statement, the front end looked mashed and splattered with a dark substance. Blood. Tornado probably took down pasture fencing.

  Oblivious to Nik’s hand sliding from his gun, Tigger squeezed him tighter, returning his embrace. To her the whole thing had merely been a hug. As it should’ve been if he weren’t who he was. A heartless operator. Trained to analyze and execute even in a diner. While Nik knew without a doubt he’d never discharge his firearm without clear cause, he also knew the edge he lived on was too thin and sharp for relationships. It didn’t stop him from wanting, no, needing to crash his lips into hers.

  Clamping his hands on Tigger’s shoulders, he encouraged her out of the embrace and off his lap. She slipped from his lap to stand between his legs. Eyes meeting his. Lips close enough to take. So help him God, he damn near took them along with everything else she hadn’t yet offered.

  “Why are you being so kind to me?” She sniffled again.

  “Haven’t done anything.” Thought about a lot of twisted things, but haven’t acted on any of them.

  Yet.

  “That’s not true. You’ve done so much for me. You’re too nice to me. Really.”

  Right… Tell me after I’ve completely devoured you, ruined your body for any other man and left your soul torn in so many pieces you could use it for confetti at New Year’s.

  He channeled a hand through his hair to keep it from grabbing for her again. “I’m not nice. I can provide you several references if you don’t believe me.”

  “Yessss. Yes you are,” she chided, as if she knew anything at all about him. And he wanted to believe in her version of him. He did. But he also knew all too well why he didn’t deserve to be worthy of the tsk-tsking smile she tossed so easily at him. “You’ve been so good to me. You’ve done so much and what have I done? Ruined your plans. Wasted your time. Accused you of being a serial killer and pointed a gun at you.”

  “I’ve been accused of much worse and you’re far from the first, and probably not the last, to point a gun at me.” Fact.

  “Nikolas.”

  God, the way she drew his name out in three syllables—a teasing flick, a soft curling oh, a dragging lap of her tongue—was like a roared call to uprising of everything hot and hard and male inside of him. If she ever said it like that again, he wouldn’t be able to keep from crashing his body deep into hers. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was managing to hold back right then. He pushed the heel of his palm across his damp forehead. His eyes felt wide and wild. His dick was hard as fucking granite and ready to blow like C-4.

  “You’re a good person. A good man.”

  The sordid things he wanted to do to her… And she was looking at him like he was a goddamn saint or something. The close contact, the compliments, the wanting…it all made his neck tight and his skin itchy.

  He grabbed for a glass of water, it might’ve even been hers—he needed something to help swallow this… This…whatever the fuck it was had to stop or he’d never get out of this diner with his life…at least his life as he knew it.

  He shifted, pressing his knee into her thigh, effectively nudging her farther away.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, but you’re an ugly crier.”

  Her eyes rounded out in shock.

  “See? Told you I wasn’t very nice.” He was grateful she laughed. He deserved a black eye. Lord knows she’d have given him one if she knew one-tenth of the ways he wanted to defile her. “Go wash up in the bathroom. I’ll settle up here.”

  He strained to keep from watching her. Feeling her body leave his had been bad enough. He didn’t need visuals of her walking away too. No matter how remarkable the past few hours had been, he knew at some point her memory would return. At some point she’d realize she didn’t belong with him. And as much as it made the ungodly amount of food in his belly churn, she’d probably even remember she belonged to someone else.

  Nik might’ve had all the exit strategies mapped out in the diner, but he had no exit strategy for this. He downed the last of his coffee as he eyed the TV in the corner, thankful for a distraction. The morning news had come on, and predictably it was all about the tornado. Wanda punched the volume up from behind the counter as the bubbly news anchors shook their well-styled heads, visibly saddened by the tales of destruction. “Our thoughts and prayers go out to the good folks in Colby. Well, Stan, right here in Wichita we had our own excitement. You first heard about it overnight on the Action Eight social media page. We’ve been calling it Hell in a Handbasket.”

  “Yes, Jane, this one is a doozy! Yesterday evening, after closing hours, a woman went to the county animal shelter claiming she had treats for the dogs in her basket. Imagine the employee’s surprise when she pulled a gun out. Here’s the video you will only see on Action Eight News.”

  The grainy video clip of a young blonde woman in braids entering Animal Control toting a picnic basket caused Nik’s breath to catch. Tigger?

  Looking as innocent as a Girl Scout
selling cookies, she appeared unsuccessful in getting the attention of the employee. Snatching what appeared to be dog biscuit from her gingham-lined picnic basket, she winged it at him. Nik snickered as it thwacked the back of the kid’s head, shooting him out of the chair and sending it rolling across the office. After a little back and forth, Tigger leaned over the counter. Several bills looked to be tucked into her shoulder strap, but the kid was more interested in her cleavage. Nik’s fist balled.

  Whatever the kid said made Tiggs pull her Glock from the picnic basket and smack his temple with the side of it. Nike chuckled, thinking he would’ve done a hell of a lot worse to the punk.

  Before she could give the kid an earful, another man came in, distracting them both. The kid pointed at her Glock, causing Tiggs to vault over the counter. Grasping a dog leash along the way, she snaked it around the kid’s neck with the speed of a calf roper. Threading the snap end through the handle loop and pulling it into an impromptu choke collar, she propelled him toward the kennel doors. All the while, she appeared to be instructing the other man to put his keys and phone down and hands up. After directing the large man and skinny teen into a dog kennel, she fired a shot at the surveillance camera and the video cut out.

  Before Nik could wrap his head around what he’d just watched, the dopey-eyed kid came on screen, rubbing at his forehead. “I’m lucky it just grazed me.”

  She shot him? Nik called bullshit. No way a 9mm bullet at close range had made the little smear of pink on his temple. Looked more like the lipstick left from the Glock kissing it.

  “Are you saying the woman shot you?” the on-scene correspondent asked. “Because it looked more like she hit you with gun itself.”

  “Both! She was trying to kill me, man.” Apparently the kid didn’t realize the whole interaction had been caught on tape, because he doubled-down on his lie. “Before my manager came back, I had her. I had her down, but when I let up, she got the gun back. We struggled and before I could take the gun off her again, she managed to get a round off.”

  Jane returned to the screen. “Making this story more unusual, the young woman left some kind of symbol or message on the door of the room where I’m told the red-tagged dogs are held before being euthanized.” A picture flashed of the tattoo-like symbol—a swirl, loosely in the shape of the number six, circling a star-like configuration.