Never Doubt Me: Judge Me Not #2

by S. R. Grey

  “Okay,” Kyle agrees, albeit reluctantly. “I guess that’ll work for me. But what am I supposed to do if your brother stops by with that Jared kid? That’s who he’s always with. And before you ask me not to sell to Jared, just know that rich boy buys all the time. He’s a consistent customer, and you’d be stepping on lucrative business if you have a problem with me selling to him, too.”

  “I don’t care about Jared,” I honestly state. “But anything my brother asks for, you tell him you’re out of it.”

  Kyle agrees to my terms, and I get the fuck out of his house. There’s something about Tanner’s place that triggers the part of me that craves drugs. Spending time at his place makes me want to get spun right the fuck out of my head. And that’s not good. So I take a breath and squash that shit down before I head back to the house.

  On the way home, I decide it’s probably best to keep my brother away from Jared for now. I hate to fuck up his new friendship, but I feel a little pressed. I, at least, want Will away from Jared until Friday.

  But a short while later, when I announce to Will that he’s not allowed to see Jared until I say so, he’s beyond livid.

  “That is so fucked up,” he yells, before he storms up the steps. “You think I don’t make my own decisions?” he yells down from the top.

  “Jared’s a bad influence,” I yell back from the bottom of the steps.

  Will calms slightly, and offers in a placating tone, “What if I promised not to touch any drugs, no matter who I hang with. Could I hang out with Jared then?”

  “I don’t know,” I respond. “Maybe.”

  Will stomps off, and I turn to Kay, who has witnessed the whole exchange. Her eyes meet mine, sympathetic.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” I admit. “It’s not like there’s some rulebook.”

  “You’re doing the best you can,” she says.

  My sweet girl is so accepting of my decisions, so unwaveringly supportive. She knows I talked to Kyle, but she has no idea I made a deal with that devil so he won’t sell my brother drugs anymore.

  And though here’s my chance to tell Kay, to come clean now, I don’t say a thing.

  Three days pass, and since my brother remains drug-free, I consider loosening up on the no-hanging-with-Jared rule. Will pleads his case a few more times, too. He insists his decision to stay away from drugs is solid, no matter what happens or whom he hangs around with.

  I inform Will I’m still thinking it over.

  Meanwhile, the time comes for me to hold up my end of the bargain I made with Kyle Tanner.

  Around nine thirty on Friday night, I am striding toward the front door, as stealthily as I can. No one knows I’m heading out. Kay is in the kitchen, cleaning up after a late dinner.

  Unfortunately, she hears me in the front hall and catches me by the door.

  “I thought I heard something,” she says, the dish towel she was using to dry the dishes still in her hand.

  She glances to where my hand is on the doorknob.

  “Where are you going?” she asks, frowning. “It’s almost ten o’clock.”

  “Uh…” I drop my hand to my side. “I have something I gotta do, babe.” I lean her way and deposit a light peck on her cheek. “I promise I won’t be gone long, though.”

  I start to turn away from her, but she grabs my arm. “What are you doing, Chase? You didn’t say a word all evening about having to go out tonight.”

  I glance toward the stairs. Will is up in his room, listening to music. The low bass beat fills the heavy silence around us.

  Kay glances to where my eyes are focused on the stairs, and says, “This…your leaving…it has something to do with Will, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I admit. “I have to take care of something I promised Kyle Tanner.”

  She blanches and asks, “Nothing to do with drugs, right?”

  Kay knows why I went to prison, and she doesn’t want the same thing happening again.

  “No, it’s nothing like that.” I try to smile to reassure her.

  Kay crosses her arms. She’s waiting for more information, but I can’t bring myself to tell her the details, that I’m going out to fuck someone up.

  “Kay, trust me,” I say, ignoring the irony of those words, “you’re better off not knowing.”

  When I turn away, I add softly, “I’m so sorry.”

  Then I am out the door before she can stop me. I don’t look back, either. I know if I turn around and see Kay’s sure-to-be-disappointed expression, I won’t be able to do what needs to be done. I hop into my truck and leave quickly, focused solely on the task at hand.

  At the apartment building, after I park somewhere my truck won’t be recognized, I start my search for the gaunt meth addict with the stringy blond hair. Several pairs of blank eyes follow me, distrusting, as I slowly make my way down the alley. There’s not a lot of light, but the flickering flames from lighters as the junkies hit their pipes provide an eerie orange glow that illuminates the darkness, enough so I can see.

  I have no luck, though, in locating the junkie I’m searching for—that is, until I reach the end of the alley. And there he is, right in my fucking path. He’s sitting down, leaning back against the wall, legs outstretched, head lolling.

  I say, “Hey,” and his only reaction is to open his eyes slightly.

  When he doesn’t answer, just stares up at me blankly, I yank him to his feet. Amid his protests, I drag him around to the back of the building.

  “What’s this about, man?” he shouts, finally coming to life. “Get the fuck off me.”

  I throw him up against the brick side of the building. “You owe Kyle Tanner money, right?” I ask, getting right up in his business. “I’m afraid the time has come to pay up.”

  “I ain’t got no money,” he cries.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  I search the pockets of his dirty pants and discover he’s not lying. He has drugs, of course, but no money.

  “See?” he whines after I pat him down some more. “No money, just like I tried to tell you.”

  And that’s when I throw a right hook, falling oh so easily back into my old patterns. My fist connects with the poor slob’s face, creating a sickening sound. Fuck, I’ve just become who I used to be, a man resorting to violence to solve problems and exert his will. And just like that, it feels like everything good I’ve been striving to be has just gotten thrown out with the fucking trash.

  The guy drops to the ground.

  He covers the side of his rapidly bruising face and cries out, “Why’d you go and do something like that?”

  I pull him up to his feet. I can’t lie, I long to hit him again. Truth be told, it feels good to break a man.

  But I refuse to lose myself completely tonight.

  So instead of swinging, I take a step back and ask the guy, “You got a place where you can get some money?” I nod at the building he’s slumped up against. “You live here, right?”

  “Doesn’t matter, man,” he mutters. “I ain’t got nothing to give you.” The man then starts to sob. “You may as well just finish the job.”

  He stands there, waiting for me to strike him again, waiting for me to pummel his ass. His easy acceptance that he has no chance against me makes me feel really fucking bad. I think of Kay and how disappointed she’d be in me. I think of how far I’ve come from the bloodlust I used to carry around in me. And though I’ve faltered and succumbed to doling out some violence tonight, I am nowhere near where I used to be. And I don’t want to back fall into that state of mind. But if I lay this dude out, I will fall. Right along with him, though in a different way.

  I let him go.

  “Just get out of here,” I say, moving farther away so he can get away from me.

  He doesn’t hesitate. He runs off.

  Meanwhile, I lean my forehead up against the side of the building. “Fuck,” I hiss.

  Kyle will be fucking fuming when he finds out I let the junkie go without g
etting any money from him and without a thorough beating. That love tap I gave the guy, he’ll probably forget by morning. He’s high, and I’m sure he’ll remain fucked up throughout the night. Once he finally notices his bruised face, if he even does, he’ll think he fell or something.

  Whatever.

  My problem now is that the deal with my ex-dealer is off. Kyle will have no reason not to sell to my brother once he finds out. And I can’t be around every second of every day to make sure Will doesn’t go to Kyle’s house or contact him some other way.

  “Fuck!” I clench and unclench my fists.

  My frustration and anger build and build. This feels like just another way I’m failing Will.

  I need to lash out. If I don’t, I will likely do something worse. Like turn to drugs or go find the junkie who I’ve just let go and finish the job.

  Absolutely not.

  Neither is an option. But slamming my fucking fist against the brick wall in front of me is.

  So that is what I do. I hit and hit, even though it hurts like hell. My knuckles crack open and bleed. I feel my skin bruising. But I continue.

  Because relief comes when, as the entire time I am hitting the unforgiving bricks, I imagine Kyle Tanner’s smug fucking face on the receiving end.

  Chapter Ten

  Kay

  When Chase returns to the house, his right hand is a bloody mess.

  “Oh my God,” I gasp when he steps through the front door. “What happened to your hand?”

  “It’s nothing,” he mutters as he tries to move past me.

  I step in front of him, blocking the base of the stairs. “Chase,” I implore, “please don’t do this. Don’t shut me out. Where were you tonight? How’d your hand get messed up?”

  “Kay…” He sighs, leans back against the wall.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?” I whisper.

  He shakes his head. When he sees my surprise—we don’t keep secrets—his eyes fill with guilt. Leaning forward, he lowers his head to rest against his injured hand that he’s placed on the banister.

  I see him wincing, and say softly, “Will you at least let me take care of your hand?”

  He clears his throat and states dismissively, “It’s not broken.”

  I step closer to him. “Still, Chase, we need to clean up those cuts and get some ice on it.” I gesture to the kitchen. “There’s still an icepack in the freezer, right?”

  The icepack I’m referring to is the same one Chase held to my cheek the night I was attacked at my old apartment.

  He nods once quickly, his eyes distant, like he might be recollecting the same thing. And that’s when he agrees to let me help him.

  Just like when I was hurt, but with the roles reversed, he says, “We should go up to the bathroom to take care of this.”

  “Okay, I’ll grab the ice. I’ll be up in a minute.”

  Chase jerks his chin toward the top of the stairs before he starts up. “Where’s Will? Sleeping?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, “he stayed up there most of the night, listening to music in his room. It’s been quiet for a while now, though, so I guess he fell asleep.”

  “Good. He doesn’t need to see this shit.” Chase holds up his bloody hand, and this time, I’m the one wincing.

  “That looks terrible.” I shake my head. “Go on up. I’ll be there in a sec.”

  Chase heads up the stairs, and I grab the icepack from the freezer.

  A few minutes later, when I step into the bathroom, Chase is seated on the edge of the tub, head in his hands. With one good hand and one bad hand, he reminds me that there are two sides to this man I love. The side he is most of the time—good. And the side he fights—bad.

  Sighing, I decide not to press for details on what happened tonight. He’ll tell me when he’s ready—I hope.

  I set the icepack next to him, grab a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the medicine chest, and run a washcloth under warm water. When I kneel down in front of the tub, I say, “Chase,” to get his attention.

  He raises his head, and I take his right hand in mine.

  “Thank you,” he murmurs as I begin to clean out the worst of his cuts with the washcloth.

  When the time comes to apply the antiseptic to his wounds, I pause to warn him, “This may hurt.” I hold up the bottle of rubbing alcohol and raise an eyebrow.

  Chase sort of nods, like he’s ready, but he turns his head away quickly. His tawny hair is messy as hell, and I long to run my fingers through the strands, to comfort him—and me—in our way. But, instead, I just start dabbing an alcohol-soaked cotton ball to his marred skin.

  Chase suddenly becomes impatient with my slow process of dabbing. “Kay…”

  He shifts, and I stop what I’m doing to look at him. “What?”

  “Here”—Chase grabs the bottle of rubbing alcohol from the edge of the tub—“I’ll take care of this.”

  He proceeds to dump half the bottle right on his hand. And then promptly grinds out from between clenched teeth, “Jesus-fucking-shit-fuck, that shit stings like a motherfucker.”

  I hand him the icepack. “That’s why I was trying to be careful,” I say under my breath.

  He sits the ice next to him, and when I look up, his blues are on me.

  “What?” I ask.

  He looks away. “Nothing.”

  Chase rakes his fingers through his hair, picks up the ice, and then says, “No, there is something. Truth is, I’m worried about Will, babe.”

  I already sense that whatever happened tonight, it had something to do with Will. But since I know Chase is not going to give me any specifics right now, I focus instead on a bit of positive news we found out before dinner today—there’s now a restraining order out on Paul.

  “Chase, I think your brother will be fine now that Cassie’s mother took out that restraining order.”

  Thankfully, Cassie took my advice and told her mom about Paul following her from the restaurant. When Mrs. Sutter heard that story, she took action immediately, hence the restraining order. And, so far, Paul has abided by it.

  “I think he’ll leave Cassie alone,” I continue. “He doesn’t want to violate that order and end up in huge trouble.”

  “And what happens if he violates the order and the police can’t find him to pick him up?” Chase throws out, cocking an eyebrow my way. “That happens in a lot of these cases, Kay.”

  I blow out a breath. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t happen in this case. But if it does, I guess we better pray Cassie doesn’t tell Will.”

  Our eyes meet, and it doesn’t need to be spoken that we’re both worried about what Chase’s brother might do if Cassie finds herself in any real trouble with Paul. Something extreme, no doubt.

  Chase puts his face in his hands. “This is so fucked up.”

  “I know.” I wrap my arms around his wide shoulders. “But we’re doing the best we can.”

  I place my hands on his and lower them from his face. I kiss his forehead, his cheeks, his beautiful aquiline nose.

  “Baby…” He sighs.

  He pulls me close to him, and things heat up immediately. We express our love through sex, but sex sometimes becomes our escape from reality as well. With the urgent, needy way Chase is kissing me, there’s little doubt in my mind that tonight will be about escape.

  His hands skim and ply my bare legs, then move to my ass, and finally settle on my breasts.

  After a few minutes of Chase groping me roughly, I pant, “God, Chase, don’t stop.”

  I stand and lift my dress, tug down my panties. My plan is to straddle Chase right on the side of the tub, let him sheath himself in me.

  But he halts my progress by grasping one of my hands. “Not here,” he says, squeezing lightly.

  “Why not?”

  Chase chuckles and releases my hand. His hand moves to the back of my thigh. He skims his fingers along the sensitive skin. My panties are still partway down, and he nudges them down a little farther. He trai
ls his fingers back up my thigh and then cups my ass…firmly. I slump against him, and he pinches one cheek lightly. When he pinches a little harder, I yelp.

  “That’s why I don’t want to fuck you here,” he rasps, his fingers moving dangerously close to my core. “I want you to get loud if you want. In fact, I want to make you get loud, Kay. And I don’t want to worry about my brother hearing us. Not tonight.”

  He slips two fingers into me, not gently, and I gasp.

  “Are you going to get rough with me?” He twists his fingers inside of me, and I add, “Rougher than that?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”

  I nod slowly.

  No one knows how to give it rough like Chase Gartner. It’s never too much, but it’s more than enough, enough to definitely remind me of who’s in charge in the bedroom.

  Oh, do I love that, I think as my mouth finds his, our lips bruising as we kiss heatedly. .

  “Let’s go over to your apartment,” Chase whispers when we finally slow down enough to take a breath.

  It doesn’t take us long to get next door. And in my bedroom, things pick right back up where we left off in Chase’s bathroom. Our kisses remain raw and hungry, and my hands roam and grasp as much as his. But after a few minutes of frenzied and rushed foreplay, Chase slows things down.

  “Gentle first, baby girl,” he whispers in my ear, a sexy promise. “Gentle, then rough.”

  His breath, warm and silky, seduces, as do his words.

  Chase moves his lips to my mouth and kisses me slowly and deeply. Without breaking his sensual kisses, he sits down on the bottom end of my bed and pulls me onto his lap.

  After a minute, he leans back slightly, and tells me, “I’m going to make you very wet for me tonight, Kay. Wetter than you’ve ever been before.”

  “I think I’m almost there,” I whisper.

  “Let me see, then,” he rasps in return.

  Chase positions me on his lap until my back is pressed to his chest. We’re both facing forward, in front of us is a full-length mirror that hangs on the back of the closet door.