CLEAN to the BONE

by Heather R. Blair

He was getting hard. Jake shifted his weight ever so slightly, but then decided fuck it. What the hell did she expect? She tore her eyes away from what was going on under her sheets back to his face. Her cheeks had gone from rosy to flaming, but she managed to lift an imperious eyebrow.

  He shrugged, not feeling the least apologetic.

  “You almost died less than forty-eight hours ago,” she accused in disbelief.

  “Keyword there is almost, darl.”

  “Obviously.” She pushed up, careful not to put too much pressure on him even in her flustered state. Charlie scrambled off the bed, shaking her head. “I’m going to go get some clothes on.”

  “If you insist.”

  She was almost at the door when Jake sat up with a groan, reaching for the edge of the bed.

  “And what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Despite himself, Jake stopped like a kid with his hand halfway in the cookie jar. “I need to use the toilet.”

  “Use the plastic urinal Martin left. I’ll take care of it for you.”

  “No.” He glared at the nightstand.

  She sighed. “Fine. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help.”

  “While I appreciate the sentiment, I can manage the equipment myself, thanks.” At least as soon as his dick got the message that it wouldn’t be seeing action anytime soon.

  She rolled her eyes. “I meant help you get there. You’re not up to walking by yourself yet. Martin said so.”

  Martin, schmartin. He was beginning to hate the sound of the guy’s name. Even if the son of a bitch did give great drug. “It’s only three meters or so—"

  “I mean it, Jake. Don’t you move till I get back.”

  Had he thought her big blue eyes placid? Because right now they were fierce and bright, her earlier sweet blush long gone. He raised a hand in surrender. “Not one twitch, I swear.”

  She ran out of the room, clutching the towel to her chest.

  Fucking awesome chest. He rubbed his eyes, but the sight of those beautiful tits was burned into his retinas.

  When he’d woken up with her all soft and warm and half naked, tucked into his good side, it had been damn hard to resist the temptation to peel that towel off and get her all naked. But he was under the weather, as it were, and despite his reputation, Jake prided himself on being a gentleman.

  At least with women like Charlie.

  Not that he spent a lot of time with women outside of a bedroom. Hell, he’d already talked to Charlie more than the last three women he’d fucked combined.

  She obviously had a gentle nature but had somehow fended off two hard-bitten assholes like Timor and Archie. She was quiet but could turn fierce and commanding in the blink of an eye. And if those paintings he’d seen in her spare room were for real, that unassuming exterior hid a breathtaking talent. He was beginning to think his little savior was an enigma and that sucked. Jake was a born puzzle solver. There wasn’t a lock invented that he could resist. He’d keep working at it, one way or another, until he figured out how to get inside.

  Jake frowned, his hand tightening on the bedcovers. He had no business thinking about getting inside Charlie. In any way, shape or form.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so curious about a woman, but that was his tough luck. He owed Charlie his life. The best thing he could do for her was to run as far as he could in the opposite direction.

  Not that he could actually run at the moment. Apparently, he couldn’t even take a fucking leak by himself.

  With a curse, Jake ran a hand over his jaw, wincing at the roughness there. He supposed a shave was out, too. Fuck.

  By the time Charlie got back to the room, he was feeling pissy in more ways than one.

  “Took you long enough,” he growled. She lifted her eyebrows but didn’t comment. She had dressed in a long, shapeless gray T and soft yoga pants in the same shade. She finished twisting that mass of too-pale hair on top of her head before coming over to the bed. With Charlie’s help, Jake was able to swing his legs over the side of the bed without too much trouble. That was promising, until he found himself out of breath and sweating from head to toe by the time they made the dozen or so steps to her bathroom.

  “I got this,” he snapped again at the doorway.

  She ignored his temper. “Great. I’ll just stay right outside until you’re through.”

  She turned her back to the wide-open door. Jake shook his head, placing one hand against the wall to hold himself up as he dropped his boxers. Despite what he’d told Charlie, he was feeling quite wobbly and was rather glad she’d insisted on staying close. If he’d been in a real hospital, he wouldn’t have tried this at all. But he’d be damned if he’d take a piss in a glorified milk jug in front of the woman who had saved his life and leave her to clean up after him.

  After he’d washed his hands and returned to the bed with Charlie’s help—a feat that left him feeling like he’d run a 5K through knee-deep mud—he watched her fuss around the bedroom again. She pulled another quilt from a shelf over the closet, going on her tiptoes to do it. His eyes narrowed. Besides great tits, his benefactress had a rather shapely arse.

  “How old are you?” he asked, forcing himself to look away.

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “You look younger.” Jake yawned. God, he was worse than a puppy. A short walk and a piss and he was ready for a nap.

  “Is that so?” She looked amused as she tucked the extra cover around him. His eyes were growing heavy again. Dammit. “How old are you?”

  “We’re almost thirty,” he mumbled. “Nearly out of time.”

  Her hands stilled. “What does that mean, Jake? Jake?”

  But the dark had already descended, sucking him down with it.

  Chapter Six

  “Don’t touch the pan, Jakey. They’re still too hot.”

  Jake ignored his mother’s warning, his chubby fingers reaching for a cookie as soon as she turned her back to get milk out of the icebox. Seconds later, he had his hand in his mouth, sucking fingertips that felt like they were on fire.

  Mum turned her head, tossing her long, black braid over one slim shoulder. Instead of scolding or screaming, she sighed, pulling him over to the sink with a gentle tug. With a shake of her head, she took his hand out of his mouth and ran it under the blissfully cool stream. He grabbed her braid with his other hand, the shiny heavy weight of it distracting him as always. He loved his mother’s hair. It smelled like rain, something magical in his hot, dry world.

  She smiled and set him down on the counter. “Wait right here and I’ll get a bandage.”

  He liked sitting on the counter, letting his feet swing. Before Mum could get two steps, there was a rumble as a Rover drove into the yard. Then another. And another.

  Jake bounced in place. Visitors were rare. More than one, an unheard-of treat. But Mum frowned.

  “John?” she called out, stepping to the open door.

  Jake turned around, getting to his hands and knees to look out through the screen where his father was already emerging from his shop, wiping his big hands on a rag.

  “What are you doing here, Darnell?” he asked the man that stepped out of the first Rover. Jake couldn’t really see the stranger from this angle. Doors boomed one after the other as more men got out of the other vehicles. There were lots of them.

  “Now, Harris.” The voice was cool. “Don’t play dumb. Even though it suits you well enough. What kind of idiot tries to steal from me?”

  “Darnell, I—” But for once his slick-talking father seemed at a loss for words.

  “Stay here, Jake,” Mum said. “Stay inside and don’t leave this house, no matter what happens, you hear me?” Her fingers dug into his shoulder hard, almost painfully. Sometimes Dad’s hands were mean, but never Mum’s. Her touch was always soft, always. Jake swallowed past the sudden fear in his throat, past the urge to grab on to his mother with both hands and keep her from going out into that yard. But he only nodded silently.


  He turned back to the hole in the screen as Mum stepped outside, her hand closing over the shotgun they kept by the door.

  “What did he take this time?” Jake could feel the resignation in his mother’s voice, the battered pride, even if he couldn’t recognize its source. “Whatever it is, I promise you, we’ll get it back. But you need to leave.” She swung the shotgun up and cocked it.

  Instead of looking alarmed, a few of the men chuckled, eyeing Mum in a way that made the back of Jake’s neck hot and itchy.

  “Natalie, get back in the house. Now.” Dad had found his voice and it was rough and sharp.

  The man in the hat waved a hand that flashed with rings. Someone dashed between Jake and his mother, a shadow against the screen. He hadn’t seen anyone come so close to the house. Neither had Mum. He didn’t have time to shout a warning before the man grabbed her from behind, slamming his arm down on her wrists. She dropped the shotgun into the dirt with a soft cry. Another wave of that sparkling hand and she was shoved forward, pushed to her knees. Jake watched Dad’s big hands tighten into fists. Why wasn’t he stopping the men? They shouldn’t touch Mum like that. Not with mean hands.

  Jake’s own fingers curled into his fat palms, not feeling the sting as his burn blister popped.

  “This your sheila, Harris?” Jake didn’t like the way the man was looking at Mum. He could see the one talking now. The one Dad had called Darnell. He was an ordinary man, medium height, brown hair, tanned skin. Smaller than Jake’s father and completely forgettable. Except for that cool, slithery look that made Jake’s skin crawl. “My, my. You do have an eye for quality merchandise, I’ll give you that.”

  “This is between us. Leave my wife out of it, Darnell!” The note of panic in Dad’s deep voice had spread. Turning almost to . . . fear. But that couldn’t be right. Dad never got scared. Not even when Stace had fallen from the tree that time and come face-to-face with a brown snake. Dad had grabbed the snake by the tail and thrown it into the side of the shed, quick as you please. No, Dad never got scared.

  Never ever ever.

  “You need a lesson about touching another man’s things, Harris. You just don’t seem to learn.” The man was stroking Mum’s braid, those flashy rings winking in the light. Jake’s stomach started to cramp. “I’ve a thought on how to teach you.”

  He nodded and several of the men who had been lounging next to the Rovers stepped forward. Darnell moved back, leaving Mum to the other men, who had started to smile as they surrounded her.

  Those smiles made the pain in Jake’s stomach worse. He curled up, stifling a whimper. But he couldn’t make his eyes leave that hole in the screen.

  “No.” Dad finally exploded.

  Dad was a strong man. Jake had always been proud of how big and strong his dad was. One of the few things about Dad that made him proud. But when the fists stopped flying, John Harris hung limply between two other men, looking half his normal size. Darnell yanked his father’s head back. Blood and snot dripped down the battered face, darkening the dust of the yard like the rain did when it came.

  “You need to watch, Harris. I can’t be sure the lesson will sink in if you don’t watch.”

  The men dragged Mum to the steps of the shop. Then they pushed her down. There was the sound of tearing fabric, laughter and grunts.

  Jake couldn’t see what they were doing. But whatever it was, it was making Mum scream. He put his hands over his ears and curled up on the well-scrubbed tile, but the sound kept digging into his skull like a thousand fire ants, burning and buzzing and hot. Worse than the cramping in his stomach. He closed his eyes tight and rocked back and forth, trying to make it stop.

  When the shot came a long while later, Jake jumped. The awful sounds stopped. He should have been relieved. The silence was blissful. Eventually voices rumbled again, though he couldn’t make out what was being said. Then engines started. He told himself it was over.

  The bad stuff was all over. But his heart wouldn’t stop racing.

  Finally, he opened his eyes and dared to peek through the screen again. Mum lay crumpled on the shop steps, a dark stain running down the cement from between her legs. The lingering pain in his head faded, bleaching into nothing, like the white glare of the sun overhead bleaching the color from the sky. His racing heart went still, slowing until he could feel every individual beat, like the drums when they watched the aborigines dance.

  Boom.

  He watched as the men left, leaving Dad facedown in the dirt. The rumbling growl of the Rovers faded.

  Boom.

  He watched as the blood dripping down the steps slowed and stopped.

  The dust started to settle. Neither of his parents moved.

  Boom.

  For a long while, Jake didn’t move either. Then he scooted backward off the counter until his toes brushed the floor. He let go and headed deeper into the house. One step in front of the other, watching the dust motes dance in the golden afternoon air. He didn’t call out. He didn’t need to. He knew exactly where his twin was.

  The heavy cotton bed skirt tickled his face as he crawled under his parents’ bed. It was cool and dark after the heat of the kitchen. Jake blinked, his ears still ringing with the sound of Mum’s screams. When he could finally focus, the first thing he saw was his twin’s face. It was streaked with tears, her blue eyes huge. One small fist was shoved in her mouth.

  “It’ll be okay, Stacie.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears. Scary. But he said it again.

  He was only five years old. So he almost believed what he was saying. Almost. He put his arm around his sister’s shaking shoulders. They curled up together, dark heads tucked in close, like they had in their mother’s womb. The two of them as still as the bodies in the yard.

  That was where the fire brigade found them hours later. The kitchen had caught fire. A neighbor, already concerned by the unusual traffic coming and going, had seen the smoke. It was a miracle they were found at all, the papers had said. Jake didn’t believe in miracles. Because if miracles were real, someone would have saved his mother.

  Dad was gone. So was their mother’s body.

  Six years later, Dad would show up and steal them from the foster home they’d been sent to. But Jake and Stacia had been working on the plan long before then.

  At the time, they’d only had a name. A name Jake made sure they repeated every night so they wouldn’t forget.

  Darnell.

  Chapter Seven

  The man called Darnell drummed his fingers on the table, watching the monitor in front of him. It showed his two flunkies sitting in a cheap Minnesota hotel room a thousand miles and more away from his current location.

  “I take it you don’t have my lithographs.” He kept his tone carefully reasonable, though he was utterly enraged.

  “No.” Archie Jones took a deep breath, the bedsprings squeaking beneath his solid, squat body. “That prick beat us to the punch again. He must have warned them we was coming. They’d moved the display to the lockdown area. We weren’t prepared for that. So we had to ditch the whole thing.”

  Archie cursed to show how frustrated he was. Hoping for pity? His lips twisted. Archie knew better than anyone that his employer was a man sorely lacking in pity.

  “When we got out, he was there on the roof.” His beady eyes rolled. “We surprised him. Think he meant to keep tabs, follow us back to you.”

  “Very astute, Archie. Thankfully, I’m not so easy to find.”

  Jake Harris and his infernal sister had been tracking him almost since they were old enough to toddle. It used to be amusing. Lately, it was less so. He had other, far more dangerous enemies, but none so doggedly stubborn as the Harris twins. Of course, they had their reasons.

  Just as he had his for not taking care of them long ago. Darnell smiled darkly.

  Archie blinked at what to him was a blank screen, rubbing his hands together, one knee bouncing up and down before he caught himself. Timor smiled ingratiatingly, white
teeth slashing the thin hatchet face in two. Having his men on webcam, but not letting them see him was a tool. It kept them unbalanced, having only his voice for feedback, with none of the expressions to interpret what he might be thinking.

  Diabolical, really. He smiled as he watched them sweat.

  “That’s right. And it’ll be harder now, boss. I nailed the fucker for you. Twice.”

  “Yeah, two shots, and still the kid managed to walk away.” Archie looked over his shoulder at Timor with a sneer. “Guess those hours at the shooting range ain’t paying off much, T.”

  “He didn’t walk. Fucker played Batman.”

  Darnell interrupted the budding argument, growing impatient. “Why didn’t you call me immediately?”

  “You said no contact till the drop. This is the drop.” Archie was puzzled and still nervous. He really wasn’t the sharpest tool, but he cut pretty well when need be.

  “Yeah.” Timor took over again. “Plus, we were tracking him down.” Timor was definitely the brains of the duo, but he lacked Archie’s instincts and had a thirst for violence and cruelty that made him dangerous and unpredictable. Archie, slow but steady, was meant to balance that. Most of the time the pairing worked well. Lately, though, they’d been making mistakes. Darnell didn’t like mistakes.

  “And did you find him?” The two men weren’t looking at each other, but something unsaid passed between them. It amused Darnell that they thought they could hide anything from him. Years of reading men, especially men of this stripe, had left him with an uncanny ability to sense truth. They’d had Jake that first night, then somehow screwed it up. The only reason he didn’t send someone to clean them up right now was that Jake knew their faces. That could be useful when the time came.

  “Yeah. We found him.” Timor was almost curt in his relief, until Archie elbowed him in the ribs. Instantly, he moderated his tone. “It took a bit, boss, but he’s staying in some bitch’s place. Recovering.”

  “Someone we know?” Jake and Stacia Harris didn’t have many close friends, but he’d come to know most of their contacts over the years. He couldn’t recall anyone they might run to for help in that part of the States.