by Jo Raven
In any case, it’s none of my business, and no matter what Merc thinks, there’s nothing sinister going on here.
It makes absolutely no sense why I’m still thinking about it. Merc’s unease has probably seeped into me. Unease by osmosis, courtesy of my brother.
Hey, stranger things have happened.
Meanwhile, work is calling me, and all thoughts of Adam and the strange happenings on my street fly out of my head when I find out the kids are sick.
Matt has dark shadows under his eyes, and vomit over his white T-shirt. He manages to look both in control and way in over his head, like some powerful God with a hangover.
He insists that he should stay home to look after his kids, and it’s sweet, but I’ve got this.
I gently but firmly shove him toward the bathroom to shower and change—without peeking, honest—and afterward push him out the door with a promise to call if there’s any need.
He hesitates on the doorstep, though, his gaze straying to the staircase and up, where his kids are lying sick in bed, and my heart flips over. Nothing like a big, brooding man all torn over his children being unwell.
This is dangerous for my heart. Very dangerous.
I have to keep reminding myself Matt Hansen isn’t the man for me. No matter how handsome, how sexy, no matter how much I’d like to ease the torment in his dark eyes… lusting after him, falling for him is a bad idea all around.
You know it.
My rational brain knows it. My body has other ideas, though, getting all hot and bothered whenever he’s near.
He finally leaves, and the act of cleaning up vomit, soothing feverish kids and cooking broth for them takes my mind off all the ways my body wants Matt.
Virgin to slut in one night, I swear… this is so ridiculous. Especially with him pushing me away afterward and this uneasy truce between us.
But I won’t think about that. Not again.
Mary calls my name from upstairs, so I hurriedly fill two bowls with broth and take them to their bedroom.
Poor kids. They look like hell, tired and cranky. Ugh. I pray to God I won’t catch his bug. At least the room doesn’t stink of vomit anymore.
I set the tray down on Mary’s bed, tuck napkins over their laps and make sure the broth isn’t scalding before placing the bowls in front of them.
Not surprisingly, they aren’t very hungry. Cole wants to hear a story, so I grab one of the books from one of their still unpacked boxes and read them the story of Alexander and his Terrible, Horrible, Not good, Very bad Day.
I think it fits, even if it’s for children older than Cole. He seems to like it, small head cocked to the side, blue eyes bright. Mary stirs her spoon in the bowl, flicking me glances. I can see she likes it, too.
Getting into the rhythm of reading is easy. Acting out the story is second nature. Got lots of practice under my belt with Gigi and Merc.
The book distracts them enough to eat some of the broth and bread I put on the side.
“Another story,” Cole whines the moment I’m done. Mary makes puppy eyes at me and pouts.
Oh God… They’re so frigging cute. How can I ever say no?
Much like their terrible brute of a sexy daddy, these kids are irresistible…
Chapter Twenty-Five
Matt
There’s a cat stuck to my door.
A fucking cat, a cleaver sticking out its side, its blood and guts smeared all over the light wood, dripping to the floor.
My stomach turns, and I swallow bile.
Christ.
But this time… I glance up at the security camera the company installed a few days ago. Gotcha, you bastard.
I take out my phone, log into the footage.
And… there’s nothing from today. Literally nothing. Just black. What the hell?
I lower my phone and stare at the dead cat a moment too long, my head pounding, my heart hammering so fast against my ribs I feel light-headed.
I’m gonna kill Ross. That fucking bastard.
But first I call John Elba and report what is going on, because he told me that’s what I should do if anything happens and because I’m an idiot believing this will convince him to take action.
John tells me pleasantly that I should contact the security company, see why the camera didn’t work. And that he’ll send someone to collect the evidence, hoping for evidence of some kind.
But that he isn’t hopeful, and that I should stay out of this. That I’ll make his job more difficult if I attack the suspect, as we got nothing so far on this guy. On Ross.
Fuck him. Fuck them both.
Got to be Ross, no matter how he protested even as I punched him in the face. Motherfucker. I punch the wall by the door, once, twice.
Draw a shaky breath that tastes of rage. It’s bitter and makes my chest hurt.
Goddammit, I don’t like it. I don’t like how this is getting progressively worse. If the culprit is Ross, then he’s gone fucking nuts. A psycho. An organized, methodical one.
Psychos are dangerous. He won’t stop at killing a cat, and John has to know that.
Why my family? Why did this freak pick me? Fucking cunt. And what’s with the insinuations about my past—about leaving someone behind? What the hell does he want from me?
Shit, I don’t want my kids, or Octavia, to see the bloody mess outside the door. So I go in, opening the door while doing my best not to get blood on my hands. I lift them up to check once I’m inside, and I find them shaking with adrenaline like a junkie’s.
The living room is empty, but I hear their voices from upstairs. I take the steps two at a time, needing to make sure they’re okay.
I’m home late. It was the earliest I could escape from work, with Jasper breathing down my neck. He seems to be over his misgivings about his son and decided it’s back to pushing Matt’s buttons.
And I have to physically restrain myself from going out of my way to look for Ross and lay in on him until he confesses. The only thing stopping me is John telling me to butt out, but I’m vibrating with rage.
The kids are sitting in their beds, propped on stacks of pillows, coloring books open in front of them.
And Octavia. She’s sitting on Cole’s bed, reading to them from a story book, though she stops when I appear at the door.
Her eyes brighten. She gets up and comes to me, giving me a smile that’s a fucking shot to my brain, bypassing my anger and fear, spreading roots into my chest.
“The kids are much better,” she says. “I think they’ll sleep through the night.”
Her mouth is rosy, a lock of dark hair curls at her pale cheek, and damn, I want to kiss her so badly. I itch to stroke that curl out of her face, tuck it behind her delicate ear with the small golden stud.
“Daddy,” Mary says, breaking my trance, showing me her coloring book. “Look!”
“And me!” Cole lifts his book, dropping a bunch of coloring pencils to the floor. “Look me first.”
Despite the gruesome message on my door, the worry and the splitting headache, I grin at them. “Awesome job, guys.”
They grin back at me.
“I love it,” Octavia whispers.
“What?” I turn back toward her.
“How you respond to them, so much more than before. You know… they love it, too.”
They do? I look properly at my kids and find twin gap-toothed smiles directed at me. Warmth rushes through my chest.
“Thank you, Tay.” The words spill out of me without thought. “This is all you.”
A slender arm slips around my hips and she leans against me briefly. Too briefly. “You’re welcome. But it’s mostly you.”
The kids fall asleep soon after, and I gather the coloring books and pencils from all over the covers, doing my best not to wake them up. As I turn off the lights, my phone buzzes, and I frown as reality slams back in.
It always does, dammit.
The cops are here to see the cat and knife, and yeah, it’s time I told Octavia
about it.
She takes it more calmly than I expected, although her face drains of all color.
“Holy crap,” she whispers and insists on coming outside to see, although she gets even paler when she does.
It goes quickly. The two cops, not the same ones who came when Cole went missing, remove the cat from the door and bag it, as well as the knife.
“Does the cat mean anything to you?” one of them asks, a huge black guy who could easily deck me with a flick of his fingers. “Does it have any special meaning?”
“The kids love cats,” Octavia says, her voice shaky.
The guy shakes his head, because this means nothing.
Or does it?
Something is nagging at me, but for the life of me I can’t fucking figure it out.
The last message asked what’s most precious to me. And that’s my kids. And my kids love cats. Cole followed a kitten when he went missing.
Kids. Cats. Precious. Who you left behind.
What the hell could the point of all this be? Except give me an ulcer, that is. Why the riddles and the little scares?
Then I have to remind myself that a psycho doesn’t have to make sense. Because by now it’s pretty clear this isn’t a prank played by kids.
At least it’s clear to me, and I hope the cops see it that way, too.
I call the security company, and they tell me the issue seems to be at my end. Maybe damage to the camera? Or a technical problem.
Someone will come by tomorrow morning to check the cameras. No, they can’t come tonight. Busy, busy. Closing up now. See you tomorrow.
Christ.
Either I’m just that unlucky, or the psycho is cleverer than any of us give him credit for. And although I’m unlucky all right—losing your wife so young isn’t a good fucking sign of fate being on your side—something tells me it’s the latter.
The cops leave with their gruesome booty, and Octavia grabs her coat from the hanger, preparing to go, too.
And I don’t want her to.
I’m at her side, taking the coat from her hands before I even realize what I’m doing. “Tay…”
She lets me, her eyes uncertain. “What is it?”
What am I doing? I don’t need her to hold my fucking hand. I’m a big boy. “It’s just that…” I lick my suddenly dry lips. “You wanted me to talk. To you. More.”
Way to go, Matt. That was real eloquent.
But her eyes clear. “Yeah, that was one of my conditions. You’re already better with the kids, so I didn’t want to push you today.”
“You’re not pushing me.”
But maybe pushing is the only way to get me going, like a broken-down truck. I’ve been stuck in one place for far too fucking long. Stuck inside my mind.
Inside the past.
Push me, I want to say. Shove me headfirst into the present. Into the future.
But like always lately, the words get stuck in my throat. I pull back. Away. Sinking into my mind, my breathing doing that funny thing again, my lungs struggling to pump inside my chest.
I expect Octavia to lose patience, grab her coat from me and go.
But she doesn’t. She always keeps surprising me.
“What do you need?” she asks me, her voice low, her eyes seeing right through me. She lifts a hand to my face, stroking my cheekbone. “I’m here. Just tell me.”
She makes it sound so easy.
“You’re like Emma…I whisper, “And you’re not.”
How many times did I think that since I met her?
Countless. In my wake, in my sleep, in my dreams.
“How so?”
I hesitate. But if it means she doesn’t leave right away… “You’re older than your years.”
She makes a face, her eyes luminous, her mouth quirking. “Older?”
Fuck, she’s pretty. “Strong. Determined. But not broken.”
“Was she broken?”
No. Never.
“Tell me about her. Now is the time.”
I can’t. Fuck, I can’t even breathe. If she’d just stay a bit longer…
She lowers her hand, slips it into mine. “Are you okay?” She tugs me toward the sofa, pulls me down, and I sink into the cushions gratefully. “Talk to me?”
Yeah. A light push. “I’m so fucking sorry,” I manage. “For the other night. And everything. I keep fucking up.”
“Matt.”
“I lost Emma… and it’s too soon. I’m not there yet. Fuck, I’m barely human. You of all people know it. I’ve been selfish. Rough. Not careful enough. With you.”
And would you look at that? Until now I could barely string three words together, and now I can’t shut the fuck up.
“You were fine,” she says. “The other night, in the kitchen? I… I liked it.” Her cheeks turn red, splashes of color that make the blue in her eyes deepen.
And that admission right there, it eases the weight on my chest, letting me breathe again.
“Look,” she says. “I should have told you I’d never done it before. And I’m an adult. I consented. I wanted it. Just…”
“I fucked up. I hurt you.”
“You did. But I’ll live.” She quirks another tiny smile, and I put an arm around her, unable to stop myself. She gasps, then relaxes against me.
“I fucked up. I’ll keep fucking up. My mind… isn’t in the right place. Not yet.”
Maybe never. And she needs to know this, because I’m gonna kiss her. Not sure I can stop myself, not when she’s so close all I can smell is warm, sexy woman, her tits pressing into my side and my arm circling her delicate back.
“I understand,” she says softly. She’s leaning closer, her arm snaking around my back, the other up my chest. I’m so fucking hard, I think my pants will explode at the crotch. “I’m not a virgin anymore. And I just…”
My mouth is on hers before she finishes her thought.
I groan, her taste flooding my senses, so fucking sweet. I push her down on the sofa cushions, bending over her, pressing between her legs, my dick drilling a hole through my jeans to get to her.
I kiss her harder, shoving my tongue into her mouth, eating up the moan that wants to spill out. Doesn’t matter what promises I make to myself about her—how I won’t touch her again, won’t kiss her, won’t fuck her, how I’ll keep my distance and not hurt her again—it all went out the window the moment she sat beside me.
I tear my mouth from her lips, but only to put my lips on her jaw, on her neck, then over her fabric-covered tits, mouthing them, groaning at their softness.
Her breath hitches. Her hips lift restlessly.
“Tay…” I speak the word against her tits, because goddammit I don’t wanna move my mouth from there just yet. “Now is the time to run.”
“I’m not running,” she says, “from you. I want this.”
Holy shit, my dick jumps at her words. She sounds so sure of herself. “I’ll be rough,” I warn her. “You’ll have to tell me if I hurt you.”
“You won’t.” She swallows. Her tits rise and fall against my face. “I like it when you’re rough.”
Christ, this girl. I rock my hips, my cock aching, my balls heavy. She’s killing me. She’s fucking killing me, and I wonder if she has any idea.
With Emma I had to be careful. Gentle. She had too many triggers from a childhood gone bad to find pleasure in rough play.
And then Octavia is kissing me back and all my thoughts vanish, except for one: this girl is mine. Mine. I fucking need her, have to have her.
Right the fuck now.
Tearing her clothes off is easy. Pulling her blouse over her head, dragging down her pants, snapping her bra off, rubbing her pussy over the thin cotton of her cute little panties, back and forth, back and forth.
It drives her wild. She throws her head back and moans, her hips lifting again so she can rub on my thumb.
She’s so goddamn sexy.
I bet I can get her off with a few more strokes. She’s ready, trembling o
n the edge.
So I stop, let her whimper as I lick a path up her belly to her tits. I’ve been dying to get my mouth on her nipples. They’re rosy and taut, pointing up, begging to be suckled.
She’s watching me, her eyes hooded, her body trembling underneath me when I close my mouth over one nipple and pinch the other with my hand.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, her body arching up.
Knowing I’m the first to do this to her, see her naked, touch her this way, make her come with my mouth and hands, is a powerful feeling. It’s somehow more powerful that fucking her the other night was. That was wild, out of control, brutal and satisfying—but this… This is real. This is better. This is the night I’ll remember forever.
The night I gave her no pain, only pleasure.
When I fucked her until my thoughts started making sense again.
One can only hope.
I pinch her nipple one last time and push my hand between her legs. I find her small clit hard as a rock and my mouth waters. Giving her tit a last lick, I dive between her legs and suck her clit into my mouth.
She lets out a choked wail, and that’s when I push my thumb inside her. Just a little, then deeper, harder, opening her up, preparing her for me.
She tenses, shudders and comes against my mouth, her hips bucking.
Oh yeah.
She’s still shuddering with aftershocks when I sit up and pull off my clothes. My T-shirt goes first, then my pants and briefs. I fist my cock roughly, jack it a few times, then stop with a hiss, too close to coming.
Fishing a condom from my wallet, thinking I should buy more, I snap it on and take a second to breathe at the snugness around my too excited dick.
Then I look down at her, at her pink, glistening pussy, at her hard nipples, her slack mouth and glittering eyes, and yeah, can’t hold back any longer.
Grabbing my cock, I push into her, as slow as I can fucking manage, inch by delicious inch. Lifting her legs, I put them around my waist and push harder, all the way in.
“Matt. Oh shit. Oh God,” she’s whispering, her voice raspy, her cheeks flushed. “I can’t… oh yes. Oh my God.”