Chapter Twelve
The beeping monitors were incessant, but a welcome reminder that, despite the swelling and bruising that marred his face and almost every inch of his body, Viper’s heart was still beating. Skye stopped in the middle of his small hospital room, unable to move any closer. She’d never been inside a hospital before. The residents at Three Fortunes had always seen to each other’s needs. Everything from broken limbs to concussions to stitches had been treated by Viper. In his time of need, he’d been alone and at the mercy of strangers.
She sucked in a breath and instantly regretted it as her nostrils filled with the alcohol-cleanser smell that permeated the air. It traveled up her nasal passages, down her throat, and seemed to grab her by the gut, gripping and twisting it like a rag.
“I’ll get us some coffee,” Jared said from behind her.
Without thought, Skye turned and reached out to stop him. His biceps flexed beneath her fingertips as her action surprised him. She was a little surprised herself at the sudden neediness that had come over her.
Jared’s hand covered hers. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll stay if you want. I just thought you’d like some time alone with him.”
She swallowed past the strange lump in her throat. “Thank you. I appreciate you thinking to hire a guard for his door.” The six-foot-five wall of muscle outside Viper’s room was courtesy of Jared’s connections at GSS. If Stone or Tristan had tried to destroy the ranch, and had come after Viper, he might still be in danger, especially if Viper could identify his attacker. Having the backup was a balm to her worried mind. “And pulling some strings to get me in to see Viper.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll get that coffee.” With a squeeze of her hand, Jared backed out of the room. Though the coffee would only churn in her sour stomach, she appreciated the gesture, and could use the time alone to regroup.
The door closed with a gentle click, leaving her with the unconscious Viper. Had Uncle Tom gotten away that night, or was he, like Mark, lying dead somewhere? Or, like Viper, critically wounded? As the days went by without a text or a phone call from Tom, deadlier scenarios had played through her mind. Anger filled her at the injustice of this attack on them. It was so senseless. What had been the goal? Why the hell had Darren considered taking her, his redemption? She was the reason Viper was fighting for his life.
She forced herself to take a step forward. Then another. The greenish-blue of three-day-old bruises covered Viper’s body, disappearing beneath the hospital gown. One side of his face was swollen where he’d been hit, or kicked. Viper had suffered several stab wounds, broken ribs, and a ruptured spleen that had required emergency surgery.
“What did they do to you?” Frustration and fear roughened Skye’s voice until she thought it might dry up and crack. She reached for the chair by his bed and sat, staring, uncertain what to say. Her skillset couldn’t make this better. She couldn’t fight for Viper. He had to do the fighting. “Come back to me, Viper. I need someone around who can kick my ass.”
Her mind drifted to Jared. Last night, they’d seemed to turn a corner. She was coming to believe he would help her, if she let him. The idea of partnering with Jared, of trusting him with her life, seemed more and more necessary. But it was still terrifying. What if Jared ended up like Viper? Or Mark?
She focused on the positives. Viper’s color, beneath the bruises, looked good. And beneath his closed eyelids, his eyes flickered with movement as if he would respond to her. That was good, too. But the nurse had warned her not to expect too much. The injuries had been serious, especially left untreated for a few days, and he was lucky to be alive. He was heavily sedated, so at least he was out of pain. Still, it was hard to see such a large, powerful man lying prone and motionless.
She stood again suddenly, unable to sit here and watch, to do nothing. “I promise I’ll be back soon, but I have to go.”
She left Viper, closing the door softly behind her and nodding toward the guard, but her mind was reeling. How could one feel both hopeful and full of rage, both hollow and hard inside? So hard that the rock around her heart solidified, pushing inward. Squeezing. Threatening to crush her.
As she stood in the hallway, trying to grasp the jagged remains of her life and make them fit back together when they seemed like pieces of different puzzles, Jared returned from the cafeteria, two steaming cups in his hands. She watched him approach, saw the lift of one corner of his mouth as he caught sight of her, and felt the rock behind her ribcage knock faster and harder against her sternum.
Could she do this? Could she let herself depend on someone, and let them depend on her?
Even while alive, her parents had never been there for her the way parents should have, and she’d thought she’d been the reason they’d died until she’d grown up and realized that had been a kid’s mind tricks. She’d depended on Tom for the basic needs of life, and he’d come through for her. But other things like a steady love and trust… She’d never allowed herself to need that from anyone. Something about Jared was making her want that. Need that.
But taking that leap meant making herself vulnerable. Letting another person into her tiny inner circle, and then possibly losing him—or, worse, watching him walk away—was a risk she wasn’t sure she could survive.
“Everything okay?” Jared stopped in front of her, holding out a coffee.
“I can’t…” She swallowed, trying to get a grip on her words. “I need some time.” She hurried past him, down the hall, feeling like a coward, but knowing that if she faced Jared now, she might totally break down. As a partner, she sucked.
Jared shoved the coffee cups into the hands of a surprised nurse and took off after Skye. The wild look in Skye’s eyes, the paleness of her face. Shock. Grief. Frustration.
He was familiar with all of these, and he knew how overwhelming they could be, how they could make you want to run to the ends of the earth—even to the hellfire waiting on the battlefield—especially when those emotions hit all at once.
He turned the corner at the end of the hall and felt a moment of alarm. She was gone. The emergency exit stairs were at the far end of the corridor. There was no way she’d have gotten that far without him catching a glimpse of her retreating back or hearing the heavy door close.
He surveyed the rest of the hall. There were several doorways that led to individual patient rooms. A nurse exited one while an orderly went into another. Knowing Skye, she would be looking for a quiet place to escape—or to hide until she could regroup and return, shields in place and guns and blue eyes blazing. He saw a closed door marked Supply Closet and headed toward it.
He stopped just outside, indecisive. How to proceed with his wounded warrior? She was forged in fire and steel but grew skittish and defensive at the lightest human touch or hint of vulnerability. She’d said she needed time, but after she thought things over, would she be willing to take a risk and trust him fully, or would she run again?
He rapped lightly on the door. “Skye?” No sound came from within. Still, he sensed she was inside. “I’m not going anywhere. I just want you to know that. I’m here for you. That’s what partners do.” He leaned against the wall beside the door as the seconds stretched into a minute. Finally, the door opened a crack.
Blue eyes narrowed on him through the small opening. “I said I needed some time.” Snappish was better than the shock he’d read in her expression minutes ago.
“And that’s something I can’t afford. You’ve been known to disappear on me.” They stood there, staring at each other. He gestured at the door that remained mostly closed between them. “Can I come in?”
She released her hold and stepped aside. That was all the invitation he was likely to receive.
Careful not to brush against her despite the tight fit, he entered and closed the door, shutting out the world. The closet was just large enough for his broad frame and a few inches of clearance on either side. Opposite him, easily within arm’s reach, Skye leaned
against the shelves, as if pressing back into them would give her more personal distance from him. Which was why it shocked the hell out of him when she suddenly reached out and grabbed him by the shirt with both hands.
The remnants of pain in her eyes had been burned away by a flare of temper. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
“You agreed to a partnership. I’m not going to let you abandon me.”
She gaped. “Abandon? Look, I just need to regroup. I can’t think. With Loretta missing, and Mark dead, and Tom gone, and Viper…” Her gaze moved to the closed door as if she were thinking about the world beyond, but words failed her.
He softened his tone. “That’s why you have me. That’s what partners do for each other. They provide stability when the other one’s going off the deep end.”
She met his gaze with a glare. “I’m not going crazy.”
“Good to hear. I needed to see that for myself. Besides, I’m your ride, remember?”
“I can get another ride.”
“Why? I’m right here. Lean on me.”
Her shoulders sagged. “People who get close to me get hurt. I’m a disease, a curse.”
“That’s not true.”
“Really?” She counted off the people she’d hurt. “My father, my mother, Loretta, Mark Sheldon, who knows who else was hurt during the ranch attack, and now there’s Viper. It’s karma or fate or whatever.”
“Why would you say that?” He wasn’t the only one burdened by survivor’s guilt.
“I’m not a nice person.”
He huffed out a laugh that feathered the hair around her face. More had come loose from the rubber band. “Bullshit.” They might not know each other on the deepest of levels, but he had the ability to gauge people’s motivations within a few minutes. And he’d seen firsthand the depth of her feelings for Viper and her uncle. “Each of those people made choices that put them in danger. What happened to them wasn’t your fault.”
“And the ones who were my fault?” Her grip tightened on his shirt and he bit back a wince as she caught some of his chest hair in her grip. “The jobs I took, the money and favors I accepted, all with the delusion I was creating justice?”
In his search for her, he’d heard the stories about her being a gun for hire, but he’d also seen glimpses of the woman she was. “You did what you had to do. You were trying to help others, not hurt.”
“They were bail-jumpers, perverts, cheaters, and criminals, but still…”
“I refuse to throw stones. I probably would have done the same thing to help someone in need.”
She ignored his platitudes, intent on berating herself. “Why are you letting me off easy? So I’ll owe you? You helped me find Viper, and now you’re protecting him. You didn’t turn me over to Stone. So what do you want in payment? What’s the trade?”
“I’m not that kind of person. I help people because they need help, not because I expect payment.” His own temper heated and he clenched his hands at his sides to keep from ripping her fists from his shirt. Doubtless, she was so lost in her grief and confusion that she didn’t realize she was so physically close to him. And moving closer.
“All people let their greed, or their baser needs, steer them. See an obstacle? Obliterate it. Someone in your way? Get rid of them, or try. Kid getting in your way, messing up business? Drug them.” She was lashing out, grasping for something that would push him away. Except that she had a death grip on his shirt as if begging him not to leave her. He didn’t like the pain that made her voice quiver. As if realizing she’d revealed too much, she stopped and blinked. And he replayed what she’d just said.
Fuck. Drugging kids? Was she talking about being drugged herself? He didn’t want to believe the world could be so cruel, but could see in her eyes that this was personal. Someone—probably multiple someones—had hurt her deeply. No wonder she didn’t want anyone touching her food or drink. No wonder she ran.
He didn’t want her to go there. Didn’t want to see her break. Some part of him knew she would never want to see him again if she broke in front of him. She might never forgive him for witnessing that.
And so he provoked her. “Fine, you want to pay me? A kiss.”
She blinked. “What?”
“That’s what I want.”
Her hurt turned to surprise, then wariness. Her eyes narrowed. “Why a kiss?”
“No questions.” He put his palms on either side of her face. Her hands were still fisted in his shirt, probably leaving wrinkles that would give the nurses no doubt as to what they’d been up to in this tiny closet, surrounded by sheets and blankets that smelled like industrial fabric softener. He leaned forward slightly and inhaled, filling his nostrils with Skye’s light scent instead. She smelled like the outdoors. And flowers, always the hint of jasmine, such a delicate fragrance for such a strong woman. He wanted to taste her, so badly that he could feel the blood pumping through his limbs. But it had to be her decision. She was already confused as hell, tormented by a maelstrom of emotions she’d held at bay for too long. He wouldn’t be the one to push her further away.
Cupping her face gently, he dipped toward her, still not touching his lips to hers. The heat of her hands had his nipples tightening beneath his shirt, and the light pain from her grip had become pleasure, spiked with need. When she didn’t back away, he pressed his lips to her forehead and skimmed his palms from her cheeks to the sides of her neck.
“Sweet Skye. You don’t even know that you have all the power here.”
She stiffened but didn’t stop him. He moved his lips across her forehead, pressing kisses along the crease of worry there. He continued to her eyelids and the tip of her nose.
But he stopped short of her lips, taking a shuddering breath to rein in his desire as he waited to see if she’d accept his challenge.
On a moan of surrender, she tipped her head back and lifted her mouth to meet his.
Shock. Wonder. Softness. Heat.
A quick inhalation, followed by a moan of desire that might have been him, but could have been her.
And a sudden, consuming hunger.
Skye inhaled to fill her lungs with more of his scent, even as a hundred sensory images slammed into her at once. Her blood roared in her ears as her brain tried to make sense of something that didn’t make sense at all. How could this man be her anchor and make her soar at the same time?
She’d kissed men before but this was different. The sensations, and the confusion, permeated her on a whole new level, which made it all the more amazing that she wasn’t resisting, or dropping Jared to the floor with a couple of well-placed defensive moves. She’d only rejected her first impulse to defend herself because she sensed his own hesitance. He was holding back in deference to her mood, conscious that she might perceive him as a threat. The soldier was analyzing her weaknesses, using her needs to manipulate her into doing what he wanted, into agreeing to this ill-fated partnership.
And she didn’t fucking care, as long as he kept making her feel like this, like a bolt of lightning sizzling through the air. Hell, she kind of admired his skill at shattering her defenses so effectively. It was only his lips and hands touching her, but his heat radiated like a furnace from a hard body that was only inches away. She wanted to press against his hardness and feel all of him—just feel, period. She’d stifled her desires for so long that they roared to the surface and threatened to consume them both.
Her core caught fire as if her walls were simply paper and he was a lit match, though his body remained unengaged in the blitz. If he’d made a move to get closer to her, she might have been able to break the spell, but the very fact that he was holding himself back was enough to encourage her, to let her explore on her own.
Or maybe she was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t enjoying this as much as she was.
Curious, she opened her mouth to him, and was rewarded with another rush of heat as his tongue slid against hers. He smelled of warm male and taste
d of mint and coffee—he must have indulged in a sip or two before finding her. The light rasp of his beard stubble against her chin was a reminder that he’d rushed out of the house this morning to get her here as fast as possible. I help people because they need help, not because I expect payment. His sacrifice was as provocative as the moist heat of his mouth. He slanted his head to capture more of her and her tongue parried with his. Her heart quickened until she worried the organ would push through bone, muscle, and skin to get to him. And she’d be perfectly okay dying such a death.
Which was when the reality overcame the curiosity.
She unfurled her fingers, which had clutched his shirt in an embarrassing display of neediness, and took a quick step in retreat. Her butt hit the shelf behind her, sending a jolt of pain that would become a bruise, but also bringing her back to reality like a drowning woman gulping for that first breath of air after breaking the surface of the water.
He was still so close she could feel his warm breath. Her cheeks flushed as she realized why. Her stubborn hands must have reached out when she bumped the shelf. Again, they’d grabbed onto his shirt. She stared at the offending appendages and through sheer, concentrated willpower, uncurled her fingers and dropped her hands to her sides.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice shook. She followed her apology with a curse that negated it. “No, I’m not sorry. I accepted your challenge. And now we’re even.” With brisk motions, she ran her hands over the wrinkles in his shirt as if she could iron out all evidence of her temporary insanity.
“Skye.” Her name was a growl dredged up from deep in his throat. “Unless you want to pay me for the wrinkles in my shirt with another kiss—or more—I suggest you stop touching me like that.”
She stared at him in shock. Her touch affected him that powerfully? She gripped her hands at her sides, unsure of the solidity of the shaky new ground on which they stood together.
Stacking the Deck (Redemption Club Book 1) Page 16