“Greg Anthony gave us a full confession. We’ve identified all four suspects involved in Olivia’s murder.”
I nod, rotating my shoulder when the doctor finishes taping the bandage in place and ducks out of the room. Another stab wound. Another set of stitches. Small price to pay to keep Rocky safe.
“We’re having trouble locating one—Aaron Woods,” Byers continues. He scratches his jaw, his eyes fixed on me. Just the sound of Aaron’s name causes my pulse to spike. I rip off the blood pressure cuff, still attached to my arm, and drop it on the bed beside me.
“He’s the guy I asked you to ID a few weeks back.”
“That so?” I take another gulp of coffee, cringing at the bitter taste but enjoying the heat.
“My guess,” he goes on as if I didn’t reply, “is he saw the same article in the paper as the other guys and took off. Or maybe Carter Bates got to him too. He’s not saying much right now.”
I choose to keep my mouth shut. This cup of coffee definitely has its use.
Byers pats my good arm, letting his hand rest there a beat longer than necessary. I look up at him and he gives me a small nod. “I’ll keep you updated.” He tips his head at the door. “Go see your girl. Four doors down.”
I don’t hesitate. I drop my empty cup into the trash and dart out the door. The only thing I can think about is seeing her. Making sure she’s okay. Touching her, just so I know she’s really here. And kissing her.
“Hey,” Rocky says softly. She gives me a pained smile and I wince. Now that the bruises have had some time to really set in, they’re darker, standing out more prominently, especially under the bright hospital lights.
I skim the backs of my fingers over her jawline, careful not to cause her anymore pain. She immediately does the same to me, I think needing that direct skin-to-skin contact in the same way I do.
“You look like shit,” she states.
“You look beautiful,” I say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. I inhale the scent of her hair, closing my eyes as it fills my lungs.
“You’re a liar.”
I grin, my lips still against her. “You ready to get out of here?”
“Absolutely. But Joe and my parents are on their way. You have time to escape, but not much, so make it quick.”
“What if I want to stay?”
Her dark eyes meet mine, searching. She clears her throat, taking several seconds to respond. “Then stay.”
***
I start the shower, adjusting the water until it’s the perfect temperature. Rocky takes my hand as she steps in, and I follow. I watch her, captivated, as she tilts her head back, wetting her hair.
My hands go to work, massaging shampoo into her long locks. She sighs happily. I’m growing fond of that sound. I lean in and brush my lips over hers, trying to elicit another one.
Rocky doesn’t disappoint, humming contently when I finally draw back.
“What’s going to happen now?” she asks, her eyes closed, her hands resting against my stomach.
“Hopefully both guys plead guilty, we bypass a trial, and the judge puts them away for the rest of their lives.”
Rocky opens her eyes, blinking water from her lashes. “What about you and me? What happens to us?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But I want to explore it. And,” I add, “I really want to explore your body as well.”
She laughs, her fingers sliding down my stomach to wrap around my cock. I’m already hard for her.
“I’m good with that.”
She begins to stroke me and I release a soft hiss through my teeth. After everything we’ve been through lately, you’d think this would be the last thing on either of our minds. But this is my serenity. These little moments with her. Her touch. Her laugh. Her.
I make good on my word and begin exploring. My fingers glide down her body, leaving a soapy trail behind. I watch as the shower spray slowly rinses it away. I’m reminded of our first time together, when we painted one another. I washed her just like this. But that night was tainted by my need for revenge.
It doesn’t have to be that way anymore.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve discovered these areas already,” Rocky says, stirring me from my thoughts.
Cocking a brow, I grip her ass, grinning as I pull her closer. Her mouth meets mine and I kiss her deeply, completely consumed. This woman. God, this woman. My little fighter. She makes me want to make some changes—reevaluate my life goals.
Three is still my number.
One: To strengthen my body. Make it strong. Make it a machine. Make it so that what happened before can never, ever, happen again.
Two: To help others find their own strength so that what happened to me, what happened to Liv—what happened to Rocky—doesn’t happen to them.
And three: My new favorite—to find the ability to let go of the past and allow myself to love again.
Grit
Grit: courage and resolve; strength of character
“They’ve promised that dreams can come true, but forgot to mention that nightmares are dreams, too.”
–Oscar Wilde
Prologue
Link
There are only two unequivocal truths to every life.
One: You are born.
Two: You will die.
Whatever happens in-between is entirely left up to you and fate and the big man upstairs.
My past has taught me fate is neither friend nor foe. Fate does what fate wants, no matter the consequences. And God? He and I have a love/hate relationship. I loved Him, but for some reason, He has always forsaken me…
Part 1
Life is a Puzzle
(We’re all just piecing it together as we go.)
One
Rocky
Link’s quest for revenge ended in my redemption.
Or so I thought.
The part I didn’t fully understand is that recovery is a process. It takes time. I didn’t expect it to happen all at once, but somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I hoped for it. I wanted to wake up with his arms around me and be the girl I was before Garrett Marshall took my life away. Before Carter Bates taught me evil can come in the form of a handsome face with a charming smile.
That didn’t happen.
It will never happen.
There’s no going back. I know too much. Seen too much. Felt too much. I can never be that girl again. No matter how much Link has done for me, no matter how much he’s taught me and given me, I can never, ever go back. All I can do is learn to be okay with who I am now. And he makes that easier. He may not have fixed what’s broken inside of me—because nobody can do that—but he helps me be okay with being damaged.
I can’t count on him alone. I need to help myself too. After years of failed therapy and abusing the numbing effects of alcohol, I’ve turned to a natural remedy to help alleviate my anxiety. I’ve found a healthy way to help control my depression. It’s a start.
The bed dips with Link’s weight and his warmth envelops me as he presses into my back. Rough fingertips brush the hair away from my shoulder, eliciting an eruption of goose bumps. His lips, soft and wet, slide up the length of my neck. It’s been two weeks since he unofficially took up residency in my apartment, and I still can’t get enough of these morning wake-up calls.
His tongue sears my skin as he unapologetically laps the space at the base of my shoulder—the spot he knows has a direct effect on my girly parts. Sharp teeth sink into the muscle there, provoking a whimpered moan to tremble from my lips.
This is the only way a woman should ever wake up.
I feel his lips lift into that devilish grin I adore so much, but he doesn’t say anything. Sometimes, it’s just not necessary. Sometimes, a mouth can do all the talking without uttering a single word.
His large frame straddles my thighs. I can feel the hard length of his cock slide against me as his hands sweep my tank top upward, leaving it high on my back. A trail of slow, breathy kisses le
ad a path back down and I shiver with desire. He’s driving me crazy with need, but I remain motionless. It’s few and far between when Link takes control.
I sigh as his nails drag along the hem of my sleep shorts. He rakes them down, exposing my ass. There’s a moment’s pause and I know he’s enjoying the view. His grip is firm as he cups each cheek, squeezing. His thumbs slide between my legs, stroking ever so lightly, up and down, teasing me. And then his mouth is on me again, licking and nibbling, moving closer and closer to his fingers.
My hips flex, silently begging him to get there quicker, but Link likes to take his time. He likes to heat me up slowly, bringing me to a simmer before he lets me boil over.
I groan in protest as he pulls away. His hands circle my hips, rolling me to my back. He adjusts my top, fully revealing my breasts. Steel-gray eyes burn over every inch of me, taking me all in appreciatively. He’s the only man who can look at me this way. Because when Link gazes at my body, I know he sees more than naked flesh.
He sees me. All the good, and all the bad, and he desires me—not in spite of it, but because of it.
My fingers curl around his forearms. I tug gently, needing him on top of me, skin to skin. Heat and pressure and hard male weight. He complies, dropping his chest to mine without hesitation. He places a kiss to my mouth; tender in a way I’m still getting used to. It’s unhurried, deliberately measured. His tongue slides along my top lip, then over the bottom. He bites softly before sucking it into his mouth.
I can’t take it anymore. I shove my shorts farther down, kicking them off and lock my legs around his waist, pulling him snugly against me. My hips shift, grinding into him. It’s a heavy contrast from the agonizingly slow-moving way his tongue caresses mine.
Link releases an approving growl. I can feel the vibration travel from his body to mine and I echo the sound.
He drags his lips over my chin and down my neck, sucking on my hammering pulse point.
“Rocky,” he rasps my name, causing my stomach to clench. I’ve tried to never let it bother me that the man I love has another woman’s name tattooed over his heart, but it’s difficult. To hear him call my name with barely controlled restraint, to be fully in this moment with me and only me, it gives me hope for this unnamed relationship I’m wholly invested in.
He slides down, scraping his body along mine. Strong fingers caress my mound. His eyes flick from my face to my pussy as if he can’t decide which he wants to look at more.
I grasp his hair, relishing in the fact he has plenty to grab onto now, as he dips his head. The sweep of his tongue is a repeat of the way he kissed me. Long, leisurely strokes. Nibbling and sucking, intentionally working me up steadily.
He holds me to the bed as I begin to thrust, searching for more pressure, begging for more friction.
“Fuck…” I pant the one word, unable to form complete sentences. “Link… Please.” I’m so close. Ecstasy is just out of reach. But he knows that. That’s the point. I could take control back. He’d let me. But that would end this sweet torture. And neither one of us want that.
He presses a finger inside of me, and then another, circling and pumping. I feel myself clamp around him as I break apart, finally finding the bliss I seek.
Before Link, this is where I’d be done. I’d pull up my panties and hightail it as quickly as I could. That isn’t the case now. There is nothing I want more than Linken Elliot’s rock-hard body all over mine. I want him inside of me, filling me. I want to be as close as two people can be.
Two
Link
Rocky’s dark eyelashes brush my skin as she nuzzles into my chest. We’re both sweaty and sated after a morning tangled in the sheets. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, breath ragged, as the adrenaline fades.
I skate my fingertips over the curve of her spine, savoring the silky smoothness of her skin. Sundays have quickly become routine. Neither one of us do much of anything—except for each other. The day is ritually spent in bed. It’s the only day of the week I’m not consumed with the sensation of lingering doubt.
I’ve made a lot of terrible decisions over the past four years. I’ve done things that haunt me every second of the day. Sunken to depths only monsters are familiar with. At every turn, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. For this foreign life of happiness—that is quickly becoming not so odd a thing—to blow up in my face. For Rocky to realize she deserves more than a man—a murderer—who can’t let go of his dead girlfriend. I wait for Carter Bates to walk on a technicality, or Detective Byers to knock on my door with proof of what I did, or another attack from an unknown assailant. The shadow of fear hovers over me.
I clawed my way out of the nightmares. Trained my body to the point of exhaustion. Replayed the past on repeat. Reminded myself of the mistakes I made. Promised myself I would never make them again. But somehow I managed to drop my walls, lower my guard, and allow myself to become content. Because no matter how much I try to protect myself against the outside world, I never prepared myself for Rocky. For what caring about her could do to me.
I’m not even sure when it happened exactly. I can’t pinpoint the second it occurred.
There’s this saying: When a woman cares for a man, he becomes her strength. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I see Rocky growing stronger. The knife under her pillow has been returned to the kitchen drawer. The hourly security checks from window to window have gradually been reduced to just once before bed. She sleeps at night and reserves the day for the living. She’s drinking less and smiling more.
She’s painting.
I have no idea if it has anything to do with me. I’d like to think so. I hope so. I’d like to think I’m helping her, making her feel safe and secure as opposed to weighing her down.
The other part of that saying is: When a man cares for a woman, she becomes his weakness. This is undoubtedly true. I loved Olivia more than anyone in the world. When she died—when she was brutally raped and murdered in front of me—it didn’t just destroy me. It killed every part of the man I was. I never wanted to care about another woman. Never wanted to feel that loss again.
But Rocky snuck up on me. I began caring about her before I understood what was happening. Everything has shifted. I used to see Livie’s face when I closed my eyes. It was her face that occupied my dreams—and my nightmares.
Now, most nights all I see is Rocky.
She is my weakness.
If I’m weak, how do I protect myself? How do I protect her?
Right now, lying here with Rocky formed to my body, it feels far away. I can almost believe everything is going to be all right.
“Did you remember to take your pill?” she mutters against my stomach, referring to the second set of antibiotics the doctor put me on after Bates gave me another scar to remember him by. I suck at taking my medication and the wound ended up getting infected. She doesn’t allow me to make that error twice. If it weren’t for her constant reminders, I’d surely have lost the damn arm by now.
“Did you take yours?” I ask instead of admitting I forgot. Again.
She lifts her head so I can see the rolling of her eyes. “My meds are long gone. Unless you’re talking about my birth control, which I never forget.” She smacks a kiss on my lips before pushing herself up. “I’ll go get them. Water or orange juice?”
“Water,” I say, holding her in place and stealing one more kiss. “Thank you.” I openly watch her ass as she leaves the room, sliding her tank top into place as she goes. She’s sexy as hell and I’m a lucky son of a bitch.
That makes me smile. I haven’t felt lucky in a long, long time.
I roll to her side of the bed and tug the nightstand drawer open. I figure if she’s going to get my pills for me, I should grab hers for her. My fingers connect with cold steel and I jerk my hand back.
I’m not sure how long I stare at it. Long enough for my vision to blur. Long enough for my pulse to beat in double time. Long enough to feel like I’ve been sucke
r punched in the jaw.
If I can offer you a piece of advice—one single slice of wisdom for you to carry—it’s this: Never fool yourself into believing everything is good. The moment you become complacent in life is the exact moment it is guaranteed to all go wrong.
The first time I made that mistake, I lost Olivia, my sanity, myself. I’m pretty damn sure I will always struggle with that.
I thought I was good—at least better than I had been. I thought she was good—at least better than she had been. I thought… I don’t know what I thought.
To a lot of people, a gun in the nightstand drawer wouldn’t mean much. But this is Rocky.
She and I have made progress…
I thought she felt assured in the unnamed, offbeat life we were making together. I thought I made her feel safe and protected. I thought I was her strength when really the changes I’ve seen in her came from the reassurance of a gun.
“What is this?” I demand the moment she steps back into the room. I hold the slim black and silver handgun out. It’s so small it fits perfectly in my palm. Easy to carry. Easy to hide.
Rocky’s gaze slides from my face to the pistol in my hand. “A gun,” she states matter-of-factly. Indifferently. As if it doesn’t belong to her. As if it’s commonplace to find strange weapons in her home these days.
“Why do you have it?”
Her brown eyes flit to the wall. “Why are you going through my things?” she retorts, deflecting my question.
The muscles in my jaw twitch rapidly as I clench my teeth. “I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy. I was getting your pills.” The gun clinks as I set it on the stand and push it toward her. “Why do you have this?”
Rocky’s eyes meet mine and hold. “It’s just a precaution.”
“For what?”
“Link, please,” she murmurs. The last time she said those words she was begging me to make her come. It was just moments ago, but it feels like a lifetime.
Grit (Dirty #6) Page 2