by Layla Frost
I didn’t move for his gun or the door.
Because I didn’t want to go.
“That’s what I thought,” he growled, closing the distance between us. His fingers wrapped around my ribs, pinning me to the wall. He held my jaw, forcing my mouth open so he could attack.
Dominate.
Deepen, taste, feel.
And I clutched his shirt and his hair, giving back as good as I got.
Our tongues battled for supremacy.
We owned each other.
We submitted to each other.
We belonged to each other.
The kiss was violent—savage and brutal. Nails scratched. Holds tightened until fingertips dug in. He bit my chin. I bit his jaw. I sucked his tongue, and he pulled my bottom lip into his mouth, scraping his teeth across the tender flesh as he released it.
He lifted me, and I automatically wrapped my legs around him. Lowering me so his hardness was pressed between my legs, he rounded his back to keep his lips sealed to mine.
After long, intense moments, he tore himself away from the kiss like it physically hurt and looked to the side.
“What?” I asked, but then heard what I’d been too distracted to the first time.
Knocking.
“Go away,” Judge called.
“It’s me.”
I wasn’t sure which of the men that was, but Judge set me down, pressing his body against mine and groaning before stepping away.
When he opened the door, Haze was standing there. “Gotta problem and need you.”
Judge nodded. “Be right—”
“No, we need O.”
“Me? Why?”
But he was already gone.
“Why do they need me?”
Judge turned toward me and lifted his shirt before adjusting his cock so it was stretched up his belly and tucked into his waistband, the last few inches exposed. Then, like he hadn’t just teased me to the point of mini-orgasm and permanent fantasy fuel, he pulled his shirt down and tossed me his jacket. “Let’s go see.”
I pocketed a keycard and Judge grabbed his gun before we headed out our door and into one two rooms over.
The pretty woman from the parking lot was waiting in the open doorway with Haze. As soon as she saw me, her shoulders slumped.
But it wasn’t because she was disappointed to see her wannabe lover had a woman already.
It was with relief.
“Oh, thank God,” she breathed. Then, moving aside, I saw what had her so concerned.
A frail but beautiful little girl was watching us. Her eyes—which looked too big for her delicate face—were wet with unshed tears.
And haunted.
Too sharp, too knowing, too sad.
“Hey kid,” Judge said softly.
Despite his gentle, warm tone, the girl tensed and inched closer to the far edge of the bed.
Where Scythe sat on the floor.
Judge was careful to keep his reaction locked down, but his hands were fisted hard enough to turn his knuckles white. His voice was even gentler when he said, “This is my girlfriend, Ophelia. She’s a nurse. Can she check you out?”
The porcelain doll of a child took me in for a moment. I must’ve passed inspection because she gave a small nod.
I went over and sat in front of the bed, keeping my distance. “I like your stuffy.”
“It’s a sloth,” she whispered.
“He’s cute. Does he have a name?”
“It’s not real.”
Someone hurt her enough to steal her whimsy. Not her child-like whimsy, but her actual whimsy since she is a damn child.
I hope they’re dead, and I hope it happened painfully.
“O,” Judge whispered.
I wasn’t as adept as him at hiding my emotions and had been scowling at the sloth like it owed me money and had insulted my mother.
Getting my shit together, I smoothed my features. “It’s okay to name stuffies. Or not is cool, too. I used to like coming up with the weirdest names I could think of.”
The girl tilted her head and hesitated before leaning forward. “Like what?”
“You know American Girl dolls?” At her rapid nod, I leaned a little closer, too, as if I was sharing a secret when I was actually trying to get a better look at the scrapes on her arms. “Well, when I was eight, I wanted one so bad. I begged and pleaded and did chores and said it could be the only present I got for the whole year because I wanted it that bad.”
“And you got it?”
“Yup. She had all this beautiful brown hair and big brown eyes. Hmm, she kinda looked like you. What’s your name?”
“Madison.”
“Oh, that’s a much nicer name. My doll’s name was Princess Poop.”
The little girl erupted into a fit of giggles, flopping back onto the bed and moving the arm that she’d been holding tight to her body.
Thank God for that.
“I’m glad you find it funny,” I told her, “because my mom did not. I brought that doll everywhere and would loudly tell people her name.”
She sat up and grinned, her missing front teeth letting me know she was likely a little older than I’d first thought—around six rather than four. “Did you name other dolls funny names?”
“Oh, yeah. Chair, who was a bear. I had a giraffe named Ant because I thought the idea of something so tall being named something so tiny was hilarious. I had a real pet turtle, Flash. Oh, and I had this other doll who lit up and part of her hair would grow. She was so cool, so I named her Toilet.”
Another round of giggles. “Princess Poop and Toilet?”
“They were best friends and worked in the horse hospital taking care of the toy horse I had… Joshua.”
The little girl looked at her stuffed animal. “Sloths are slow. I think maybe I’ll name him… Lightning. Like Lightning McQueen.”
“That sounds like the perfect name. Can I see him?” When she handed him over, I turned him all around. “Yup. Totally the perfect name. But did he get hurt?”
Her smile faltered, and I hated that I had to be the one to take it away. “Yes, he, uh, fell and got a little cut.”
I held out the sloth’s arm and looked at it before looking to hers. “Did you try to help him and get scratched, too?”
Tears welled in her eyes again, and she nodded fast, taking the lie and running with it. “He fell and then was caught in some bushes that were pokey.”
“Then you’re a hero for rescuing him. I’m going to fix you both up and make sure no icky germs are left, is that okay?”
Her eyes went to her mom, who had a worse poker face than I did. Barely holding in her tears, the woman nodded. “It’s okay.”
“It’s okay,” Madison repeated solemnly, pulling into herself again.
Looking over at Judge, I asked, “Hey, baby, can you get the kit from the bag?”
He lifted his chin and left, returning a minute later with the basic first-aid kit I’d been smart enough to pack in case I needed to patch bar fight injuries or, more likely, wounds I got from my less than graceful motorcycle dismounts.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
His expression was unreadable as he lifted his chin before he and Haze left again.
A heretofore silent and unmoving Scythe stood to go, too, but Madison reached out and cried, “Don’t leave!”
“Not going anywhere, kid,” he said, smiling down at her. “Just gonna go sit near your mama, okay?”
She didn’t balk at his scarred smile and seemed reluctant to have him that far away. At her eventual nod, he went and sat on the floor near the door, leaning against the wall with his head tipped back and his face aimed at the ceiling.
Starting with Lightning, I stretched his limbs, wiggling them out. I pretended to spray his fur with antiseptic before putting a few Band-Aids and a small gauze wrap on him.
I held him out to Madison. “Do you think I got them all?”
She didn’t even look before shaking her head. Loweri
ng her voice, she whispered so quietly, I had to strain to hear, “He has some scrapes near his butt.”
I pointed to his hip. “Here?” At her nod, I did the spray and Band-Aid again. “How about now?”
“He probably feels better.”
Repeating the pattern I’d done on Lightning, I checked Madison’s range of motion—relieved to confirm her earlier hesitancy to move her arm had been nervousness about it hurting as opposed to genuine pain. I cleaned her arm and bandaged it.
“Do you want your mom to do your side?” I asked.
She shook her head and climbed down to stand, lowering the side of her baggy pajama pants a little.
I pulled two splinters and a thorn free before cleaning the scraped to hell area. The spray burned like a mother, but she hardly winced.
Hiding my anger and heartbreak, I made quick work of it.
“Your mama doesn’t let you draw on your skin, either?”
I looked up from her injuries. “What?”
She gingerly ran her soft fingers down my arms before pointing to Scythe. “Their mama’s let them draw on themselves. My mama said I can’t and took away my markers for a whole day.”
I choked back laughter because I didn’t want to startle the skittish Madison—not to mention, I didn’t want to squash her misconception that the men’s tattoos were doodled on daily. “Yup, my mama said markers and scissors are only for paper.”
“That’s boring,” she sighed.
“Them’s the rules.”
Once I was done, her eyes shot to Scythe but he was already standing. He returned to his spot next to her bed.
“You and Lightning are good to go. If it hurts, have your mama or Scythe come get me, okay?”
“It won’t…” she started before rubbing the bandage. There was a calculating look in her eyes that was the most kid-like thing I’d seen from her. “I mean, it hurts a little. Maybe a piece of candy will help.”
Without a word, Scythe was up and out the door.
If he comes back with less than half the vending machine, I’ll be surprised.
“I like the way you think,” I told her as I stood.
She grinned wide and hugged her sloth closer.
Heading for the door, I stopped in front of her mom. “Keep an eye out for redness or irritation. I cleaned it as best as I could, but there’s always the risk of infection.”
Her eyes went from her daughter to me. “It’s not broken?”
“No, I think she was just worried about potential pain.”
She relaxed a little, though stress and worry were still clear on her face. “Thank you.”
I turned toward Madison. “Enjoy your candy, hero.”
“I will!”
Giving her mom’s arm a squeeze, I opened the door to find Judge and Haze still outside.
“All good?” Judge asked. At my nod, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“I’ll stay until Scythe gets back then crash, too,” Haze said.
“Thanks, brother.”
Once we were in our room, I started launching questions at him before the door even closed behind us. “Who is she? And what happened tonight? And who did that to her? Because I’m going to break their arms and then stick thorns in some very painful places.”
Judge stripped off his shirt and started working at his jeans. “Fuckin’ hell, don’t get me hard right now.”
“Thorns are your kink?”
“No, your violent streak is my kink.”
I rolled my eyes, but did it smiling.
After undressing, he sat with his back against the headboard and pulled the sheet up to his waist. “Strip.” When I opened my mouth to argue because, even though his nudity did all sorts of things to my body and head, the moment was way gone, he added, “For bed. Still got a dirty mind, princess.”
“I think it’s worse now.” Not wanting to dig around in our bag, I stripped to my panties and stole the shirt he’d discarded, pulling it on. I moved toward my side, but my steps faltered when I saw the searing, possessive heat in Judge’s hooded gaze.
And the large bulge raising the sheet.
“No,” I said, both to myself and him. “We’re talking and then sleeping.”
“Didn’t say anything.”
“But your eyes and cock did.”
“Got a new kink,” he muttered.
“What?”
“You sayin’ cock. Swear to Christ, O, I could come from just hearing that word come out of your sweet mouth.”
“We’ll test that. I’ll say all sorts of filthy things… tomorrow.” I sat at the foot of the mattress, keeping my distance so neither of us got off-track and handsy. “What’s going on?”
“Nox has something called Gus-Protocol. She knows the important stuff in his life but doesn’t want the details. Her choice.” He rubbed his jaw. “You want an Ophelia-Clause?”
“I want you to be able to share all your life with me, not just parts of it.” I shrugged. “Plus, it might work well for others, but I’m too nosy to bury my head in the sand.”
“Wanna bury my head between your thighs,” he growled.
“Tomorrow. Now, answer my questions so we can sleep.”
“Bossy.” He pulled me to him, settling in. “We gotta deal with the present before we go to the past. Nox called.”
“And?”
He filled me in on the conversation, including shedding some badass light on my girls at work who were trying to do a little good in a highly illegal way.
And some disturbing light on the crotchety Mr. Henderson who was trying to do a little dirty in a highly illegal way.
“The only visitor he has is his—” My words cut off abruptly as I gagged and nearly lost my dinner. “That’s not his granddaughter who comes to visit every other week.”
“I sure fuckin’ hope not.”
“Oh, God,” I cried, fighting back another retch. “Shut up.”
Judge laughed, but even he looked a little nauseous.
“I don’t know why she’d think I was involved,” I said, wracking my brain until it hit me. “Three weeks ago.”
“What?”
“Remember I told you about the strays I feed?” At his nod, I continued. “Some of the residents gave me a big box filled with cans of food for them. Mr. Henderson’s… friend was leaving at the same time as me. She saw me carrying the box and must’ve thought it was drugs. Wouldn’t they check me out first or something?”
“No, Nash is impulsive. He’d act on word alone.”
“How is he so powerful when he’s so dumb?”
“Fear is a powerful motivator. He’s got a high body count and a large collection of blackmail.”
“Do you need to call Nox?”
He glanced at the clock on the table. “It can wait.”
“Then tell me about Madison.”
“I gotta backtrack for any of this to make sense.” He rubbed his jaw. “Nox has a gift for findin’ things. People. Info. Skeletons.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant that literally or figuratively, but I had the strong suspicion it was both.
“Like a private investigator?” I asked.
“Without all the regulations, certifications, and laws gettin’ in the way.”
“Ohhhkay,” I drawled. “So, not quite the same.”
“Mayhem does our own thing, but we work with him a lot.”
I said I wanted to know, so here goes nothing…
“What’s Mayhem do?” I asked.
His brows lowered. “I told you, security.”
I blinked a few times. “What?”
When he’d told me, I’d assumed he was lying. At the very least, stretching the truth.
“Mostly big shots. Some celebrities.”
“That’s so… legal,” I murmured.
“Also means we get to do some B&E to recoup stolen property, beat the shit outta thieves, blackmailers, stalkers—”
“Little less legal, but okay.” I t
ook a minute to wrap my head around it. “Do you have an office building and business cards and a tie? Oh! Do you have a briefcase?”
“You’re a fuckin’ weirdo,” he said, laughing. “Are business cards and briefcases your kink?”
“No, I’m all about motorcycles and leather.” I ran my fingertips along his arm down to his hand. “And tattoos. Big fan of those.”
He pulled me to straddle him, but I scooted away so I was sitting on his thighs near his knees. Otherwise we wouldn’t be talking, and I needed to hear the rest.
Judge didn’t look happy about the distance but kept talking. “We work out of the clubhouse ‘cause it’s all we need. Other than an email address and a private line that goes to a secure voicemail, we’re off the grid. Everything is word of mouth, everyone is vetted by Glitch, and we only take the jobs we want. We charge a shit-ton that people happily pay ‘cause they want discretion, safety, and someone who’s willing to bend the law instead of calling the cops.”
It was a shock but also… not. Things clicked together, making sense.
“We also do relocation.”
My brows lowered. “Like, a moving company? Or realtor?”
He tilted his head toward the door. “Like the kid.” Tension filled his body, his muscles tightening. “Her ma, Casey, was dating a piece of shit who controlled and manipulated her. By the time he started beating the hell outta her, he’d already cut her off from her friends, family, and money. She felt trapped but was working on a slow and careful escape. She didn’t know he’d been verbally abusing Madison, threatening her ‘til she was literally sick with fear. Not until she came home to find Madison left alone, her arm broken and her face…” He clenched his jaw so hard, it had to hurt.
Swiping at the tears streaming down my cheeks, I leaned forward, hoping he’d get the request I was too choked up to verbalize.
He did, wrapping his arms around me. “The cops searched for him, including the sheriff’s son, Nico.”