Beaten (Broken Book 1)

by Rue, Rebekah

  “Stay back! I don’t want you cutting yourself,” he says, holding his hand out.

  “What happened?”

  “Damn Diddy must have liked your bra straps and ended up knocking over your bottle of perfume on the counter.”

  The smell is starting to get to me. At one point it had been my favorite scent, but now it sickens my senses, burning my nose and lungs. I take it back. I really hate that cat. That perfume was expensive.

  Cough, cough, cough. “I can’t”—cough, cough—“do it.” Cough, cough. I want to help him, but Talon waves me away, and I park my ass on the couch with a glass of water until he resurfaces ten minutes later, trash bag in hand knotted at the neck.

  “All clean, but I don’t wash cats. Your mangy lion is going to need a bath. He reeks of a garden of flowers.”

  “I’ll make sure Maggie gets right on that.”

  On the table next to me, Talon’s phone starts ringing. He quickly walks over and snatches it up, checking the screen and silencing it. “Walk me out?” he says, tucking his phone into his pocket.

  “Sure.” Narrowing my eyes, I gradually get up and follow him to the front door.

  “Eight o’clock tomorrow I’ll pick you up?” he says with his hand on the knob.

  “That’s fine.”

  He leans down and places a kiss to the tip of my nose. I move back for him to open the door, and he steps out, leaving me to wonder who is so important calling that he left at the drop of a hat.

  Chapter 11

  Lo

  It was the night Talon won that big race that I knew what I wanted to get him for his birthday. I immediately contacted Sasha, knowing she would be the best person to help. I gave her all the supplies, and she had the perfect person piece everything together. Driving with a heavy foot, I’m now on my way to her shop to pick up the finished product. It was tricky shaking Talon off after our morning workout, but I blamed it on having to help Micah search for an apartment. He seemed to buy it but didn’t look pleased. I promised to text him when I got home and gave him no other choice.

  The front of Lady Parts is busy as I pull outside one of the bay doors, spotting Sasha squatting down next to an intimidating chopper. She looks bad-ass sexy wearing a mechanic’s jumpsuit, the top half hanging open and a black Harley Davidson tank peeking out the top. Her raven hair hangs perfectly straight down her back, and her bangs are pulled back under a red bandana that matches her cherry lips. With the slam of my car door, she looks up and sweetly smiles, wiping her hands on a grease-stained rag.

  “Hey, Lo.”

  “Hey,” I say, walking up to her.

  “You are gonna love what my upholstery lady cooked up. It’s sick! Follow me. I’ll show you.”

  The smell of rubber and gasoline is strong in the air, along with the music of power tools. We walk under cars on lifts, to an area that is lined with scorching red metal tool cabinets faced in fancy diamond-plated coverings. Sasha opens one of her many rows of drawers and pulls out a box, handing it over to me. “There it is. Open it.”

  I lift the cardboard flaps, exposing Talon’s gift. “Oh my God, it’s perfect!” I smile, removing it from the box, and finger the complicated stitching. The beautiful piece is a mixture of creamy worn leathery textures stitched together in a marble of tans, dark browns, and blacks. The scent of the rich leather smells soft yet has a hint of masculinity.

  “Sasha, this turned out better than I imagined. Thank you!”

  “Don’t mention it, chick.”

  “You’ll be there Saturday, won’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  When I arrive back at the condo, the funny thing is Micah actually does need a condo-shopping buddy. My schedule is already clear, so I accept. Turns out I’m not a liar after all. We call Maggie to see if she wants to go, but she’s stacked up with clients all afternoon. So off we go, just the two of us.

  Micah drives us around in his black Range Rover SUV, his little gift to himself for making partner at Sheridan, Upton, and Butz, a well-known law firm just inside the city limits.

  Micah’s realtor is nice enough to set up several locations to check out. The first stop is a two-bedroom, two-bath condo in the city that’s within walking distance to his work. The fifteen-story high-end contemporary condominium is brand new. Everything sparkles with the bite of fresh paint and new carpet in the air. The unit has an open floor plan with a formal foyer that leads to a large recessed living room overlooking a small park. The whole place looks so clinical, so sterile that surgery could be performed right on the living room floor.

  “So, what do you think?” I ask, my wedges clicking the cold marble as I walk to stare out the floor-to-ceiling glass wall.

  “Umm, I think the right person could breathe some life into this place, but for the price, it’s not what I’m looking for.”

  “Okay.” Without hesitation, I grab Micah’s hand, pulling him out the front door.

  The second stop is a two-bedroom, one-and-a-half-bath home that is thirty minutes from the condo Maggie and I share. The realtor refers to it as a fixer upper that just needs some TLC. This home is going to need a lot more than TLC, more like a wrecking ball. The faded blue home sits at the far end of a mostly brown yard. Weeds choke the garden areas around the front door and grow out of the gutters. And that’s only the outside.

  That should have been our cue to leave, but we go in anyway. Mustard-yellow dingy carpets run throughout the house, holding the strong odor of cigarettes and ground-in dirt. Loud tacky wallpaper loosely hangs from busted walls, peeling away around the corners of the room. Anything of any value has been taken. The house has been stripped of all ceiling fans, appliances, shelving in closets; even the air conditioning unit has been removed from the outside.

  I’m walking back into the house from the garage when Micah gives me the funniest look. “Lo, hold still! You have a roach on you,” Micah says, slowly inching towards me.

  Just let me tell you . . . I. Don’t. Do. Roaches.

  I freak out.

  My legs crazy dance frantically, hoping to knock it off. I jerk in circles, my hands swatting and ripping at my clothes. “Did I get it? Did I get it?” I shout, holding still to examine my form. My heart is beating a hundred miles an hour. Micah laughs, doubled over, his voice echoing off the bare walls. Through heavy pants and frazzled nerves, I shoot Micah a look that says I wish had the power to throw roaches on him.

  “Lo, Lo . . .” he barely can say, pointing to my ankles.

  I feel the creepy tickle the second he says something. “Ahhhh” explodes from my lips; I’m kicking and screaming through the living room and swatting at my legs. “This shit is too much! Meet me in the car when you’re done!” I complain, shoving open the rickety front door and knocking it off its hinges. My skin crawls, and I can’t shake the heebie-jeebies; it feels like they’re still crawling on me. Gross! Micah follows me out seconds later, openly hysterical at my discomfort, but I don’t care as I uneasily flee to the cleanliness of the Range Rover.

  The third and final stop is a three-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath home perched atop a hill that overlooks a small serene lake. The exterior is weather-beaten and neglected. Nothing major though. Not like the last house.

  A graceful, free-flowing entry way greets us, drawing us in deeper to a panoramic living room overlooking a picturesque pool oasis. The interior has old world charm, which includes built-in bookcases, detailed molding, and tons of natural lighting throughout.

  A spacious home office and recently renovated kitchen make this place too good to be true. Both of us are awestruck, looking across the vast backyard. “Well, Mic, what about this one?”

  “I don’t know, Lo. It doesn’t come with a colony of roaches, so I won’t be able to invite you over.” He peeks at me from the corner of his eye, and a handsome smile tickles his lips.

  That deserves a shove, but he catches me in a hug around the shoulders.

  “What do you say I decide later and we go get
something to eat now? I stumbled across this awesome burger place a couple of days ago, and you gotta try it.”

  “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Talon

  I could easily become addicted to this feeling. Her smooth body fits perfectly between my muscular thighs. The purrs and hums deep within drive my possessive hands seductively over every curve. I grip her tighter, controlling our speed. This dominant red-blooded male is completely in control, appreciating her tempting beauty, and using her for what she is made for: a release to take my mind off everything. One last jerk and virile sparks ricochet up and down my very core.

  Placing her in park at the curb and popping the kick stand, I swing my jean-clad leg over Sasha’s mean black Harley. My Mustang is up at Lady Parts being tweaked for this weekend, and Stone ran out of a few parts.

  I’m greeted by Tim with the chime of the door. He’s a great guy. He’s worked at the parts store forever and has more knowledge than most seasoned mechanics. We shoot the shit, he hooks me up, and I’m out. As I’m clicking my black skull Boneyard helmet in place under my chin, the mouthwatering spice of burgers has me seeking out the new restaurant across the street. My stomach decides it’s hungry, and I’m sure some of the guys at the shop haven’t eaten all day either. I’ll be a saint and bring them a sack. Popping off my helmet, holding it against my hip, I step off the curb and wait for traffic to clear, when my sight catches something I really don’t want to see. I know she’s out with him, but it feels like a knife in my soul to see Lo enjoying another man’s company.

  My normal breathing grows more ragged with each inhalation. Time freezes while I disgustingly watch Lo and the assclown enjoying a meal outside on the shaded patio. A pleasant breeze rolls through, but I don’t take notice because my temper is burning red hot. Their relationship appears effortless, easy, and her facial features stay smooth with her chin resting on her fist, dropping warm smiles while he talks. She is beautiful. He, on the other hand, looks like he still has Cupid’s arrow still poking from his ass. His reactions when she speaks and his bright smiles scream he is crazy about her. What man wouldn’t be? Lo leans slightly forward to him when he beckons with a grimy finger. Then, like he has the right, the creep uses his napkin to wipe something off her perfect lips. My lips.

  My feet move. I can’t stop them. I’m going to lay this pushy fucker out and take her away. He isn’t nearly as cut as I am and appears to weigh twenty pounds less. Hell, why do you think I go to the gym with her. It’s not because she needs the personal training. Fuck no! Her body is perfection!

  My ravaged mind propels me without thought of repercussions; I’m not even checking for oncoming cars. The godsend of Tim’s urgent voice calling stops my progress and saves me from nearly being killed by a delivery truck speeding by. It skims past so closely I swear it touches my nose, the baritone horn wakes me further, and the driver flicks me the angry one-finger salute as he passes. I’ve always had respect for other vehicles on the road; I know the power that lives under the hood and know the importance of being responsible enough to control it. I always respect the road, but today something has gotten into me.

  “Talon buddy, are you okay?” Tim asks, placing a hand on my tense shoulder.

  I take a choppy breath through my nose, willing my rage to cool, though I’m still a little shaken up.

  “Here, you left a bag of spark plugs on the counter.”

  I look down and notice my hands carry a slight tremor. How did I allow myself to get to this point of addiction? This new crazy me is freaking me the fuck out. Women served one purpose before Lo, and now nothing is satisfying. I’m fighting for something I haven’t had, and I’m morphing into someone I’m unfamiliar with. I mean, hell, I’ve only kissed her twice, touched her every chance I get, and jacked off more than I can count. Sure I’m a little domineering and I lose my temper every so often, but she seems to intensify it tenfold. I push hard, rubbing my eyes with my empty hands and thank him for the plugs. I need to figure out what I’m doing. Do I go back to easy carefree Talon or play the game of life with Lo?

  Lo

  Feeling carefree and optimistic, I’m shaking my ass around my room, listening to “Bailando” by Enrique Iglesias. It’s Talon’s birthday weekend. I’m excited for him and anxious to give him my gift. My ring tone cuts the music off to my phone, causing me to halt mid-spin. I dive for it, answering before it goes to voicemail. “Hey, Talon, what’s up?” I ask, lying on my stomach, out of breath.

  “What have you been doing? You’re breathing funny.”

  I giggle at his normal words and release a long sigh. “Ahh, just being silly.”

  His tone is chiseled and serious. “Right . . . drive with me tonight? We need to talk.”

  The joyful mood I had minutes ago slowly evaporates into a cloud of dust. No conversation is ever good that ends with we need to talk. “Sure . . . is everything okay?” I sit up.

  “Yeah, I’ll be out front in an hour.” He’s curt and hangs up.

  Pulling the phone away, I look at it, nervously gnawing at the corner of my lip, stewing over what this can be about. It feels like I’m about to be dumped, except we aren’t even dating. The more I think about it, the more rejected I feel. I’m working myself up into an emotional mess. I’ve never had a strengthening relationship with men; all the men in my life controlled or coddled me as if I might break and I hated that. The taste of blood halts my mind’s crazy train. I know I’d better start getting ready because I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting here. Hurrying to the bathroom, I pee and get dressed. Right at ten p.m. my phone chimes.

  Talon: I’m here.

  I lock up and scurry down to the Mustang, its bright headlights saturating the red brick on the building. His car is all glossed up, and the roar of the engine sounds meaner than ever. Opening the passenger side, I climb in, breathing in the masculine cologne he must have on. Sniffing it triggers so many fond memories. Memories that may have to stay that way.

  The inner lights gradually fade till I catch him staring at me with a troubled scowl that creases his forehead as I click my seat belt on. Something is brewing behind his stormy eyes, and it only intensifies my uneasiness.

  He shifts the car into reverse without a word and off we go. Talon drives like a robot, except for small agitated movements. I wait silently and patiently, feeling the unknown strain climb the longer the silence stretches on. The punishment lasts the whole ride; I just want it to end. If he doesn’t say something soon, I’m going to combust. Getting it out in the open has to be easier than this. “Talon, please talk to me. You’re making me nervous,” I softly say.

  Detached, he turns his face to me, his voice upsettingly eerie. “Have you ever invested a lot in something you knew was wrong?”

  Yes, but I couldn’t keep myself away from him at the time. I keep myself from saying all of that and simply shake my head no.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he says, laughing once, yet none of it is humorous. I blink, confused. What is he trying to say? Is he in some kind of trouble? Does he owe someone money? What does that have to do with me? Am I what’s wrong? No, we’re great together.

  The car slows to a halt, informing my preoccupied mind that we’re here. “Talon, if you’re in trouble, I want to help.” I utter softly, reaching out and touching his knee when really I want to hug him. His muscles under my palm tense at my touch and his leg pulls away.

  “You don’t get it.”

  I’m getting angry with his chilly mood and am about to argue that I’m not getting it because he’s being so cryptic, but I glimpse out the side window and see everyone staring at our car. His presence alone draws everyone’s attention. I hate every one of these nosy onlookers, but Talon is idolized down here at the field, and the odd fact he pays non-sexual attention to a girl throws everyone off.

  “Just forget I ever said anything. I need to take care of something. You’ll find your own ride home?” He pauses briefly before pulling the keys from the ign
ition and rolling out of the driver’s seat. I sit another minute, feeling rejected against the sticky leather that’s no longer comforting and warm. It’s cold and unwelcoming like Talon’s mood. Why does he have to make things so complicated? If he’s throwing me away, there’s no need. I’ll willingly go; he just has to say the words. I have Maggie and that’s all that matters.

  Stepping out, I spot Maggie leaning against the fender of a car, talking with several people. As I approach, I watch the profile of a good-looking man. He’s rugged-looking and built solid like a lumberjack. His dirty brown hair is longer than Talon’s but looks appealing as hell uncombed. Seeing me approach, Mr. Lumberjack pushes off the car he’s leaning against and shifts away from the girl who’s trying desperately to keep his attention. Dropping those brown eyes low, he watches my every move and flashes his dangerous dimples to get my attention. His dark aura and my wounded ego make me hesitant to approach, so I veer towards Maggie, hoping to deflect his attention. But that doesn’t stop him; he still sidles up to me. “Who is this little diamond?”

  I glance over my shoulder, feeling him so close to my side. I take one step away, but his steps are bigger as he moves in too close to ignore, and he knows he has my attention. Pesky little bugger. “I’m Lo. You are?”

  Scooping up my hand in his, he brings it up to his lips, keeping eye contact with me and placing a gentle kiss on top. “Skid.”

  My stomach quivers with his gesture. “Nice to meet you, Skid. How did you get that name?”

  He’s smug as he gloats, “Because I’m the best out here at drifting.”

  Not familiar with that term, I give him a puzzled look.

  “Drifting is kind of like when you take a turn but you’re going too fast, making the tail end of your car slide. But I’m doing it on purpose, delicately putting pressure on the throttle to gain back control.” He shakes his head slowly. “I love control. Are you a giver or a taker, diamond?” he asks, tickling the center of my palm with a finger.