by Lydia Rowan
“Pity,” he said, his face blank, but laughter playing around his eyes, “I like the sound of it.”
“Really?” she said, surprised. Sure, they’d spent a lot of time together and he’d shared things with her, but she hadn’t yet believed he wanted a relationship.
“Yes. I’ve never had someone call me her boyfriend before, never had a girlfriend.”
“What? You’re kidding. I mean, you’re so amazing and handsome. It’s not possible.”
Then something occurred to her.
“And there’s no way you learned to make love like that with me.”
“You’re wrong, Julie,” he said, voice still soft but more earnest now. “I did. Everything I learned about making love, I learned from you.”
“Come on, D’yavol. You’ve been with other women.”
He nodded. “But that wasn’t making love. Only with you. Hugging, talking, laughing, only with you.”
The heat of her embarrassment melted into a different, deeper feeling, a combination of pride that he’d chosen her to share such special intimate moments with, sadness that he’d been alone for so long, and a tinge of disbelief. How could others not see the goodness in the man sitting across from her, not want to claim it as their own?
“The women you’ve been around are blind idiots.”
A bright smile broke across his face. “Maybe, but stop trying to change the subject. Am I your boyfriend?”
An uncharacteristic boldness seized Julie. “I’d like you to be. And I want to be your girlfriend.”
If it was possible, he smile even brighter and then nodded. “Good. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”
“Wow,” Julie said. “That easy, eh? We should celebrate. What should we do?”
“I’m sure I can think of something,” he said, blue eyes burning with promise. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength.”
Chapter Eleven
Julie pulled the string to alert the bus driver of her upcoming stop, anxious to get home. D’yavol had called her last night and asked if he could come over for dinner. She hadn’t hesitated to say yes, hopeful about what they were building. Without a doubt, she loved him, and he’d never said it out loud, but she believed he loved her as well. What else could explain his recent change? Over the last couple of months, he’d opened up to her more and more, shown her the other side of the dangerous man he was on the outside. He still refused to discuss his “business,” and truth be told, she didn’t really want to know. As long as he was safe…
After disembarking, she walked hurriedly down the block. She’d stayed a little late at work and still wanted to clean up before she started dinner. Keys clasped in her hand, she unlocked the outer door of the apartment building and rushed down the hall to her unit. She stuck the key into the lock and turned it, and then she felt a presence behind her. Before she could turn, a hand snaked out to push the door open, and she was roughly shoved inside, stumbling to land on her knees at the impact, the sound of her door closing ringing with hollow finality in her ear.
Nausea churned in her stomach, and she was light-headed with fear. Someone was in her house. Was it a home invasion? Oh God, she didn’t have anything worth stealing! Would they kill her for that? She tried to breathe deep and slow, force down the panic, but then it hit her. Whoever had shoved her was still inside but instead of tearing through the place, he—she assumed it was a he—stood still. An icy shard of fear stabbed through her heart.
Whatever he wanted, he wanted it from her.
She took a deep breath and stood. The terror still raced through her, but she slowly turned to face the intruder. Dusty boots, faded, dirty-looking jeans, T-shirt, and some kind of leather vest thing. Eyes centered somewhere between his neck and chest, Julie took another deep breath and lifted her gaze to his face. Handsome enough, squarish jaw. He looked familiar…
It hit her in an instant. He was one of the guys from that first night when D’yavol had rescued her.
“You recognize me, I see,” he said, the calm of his voice scaring her even more, if such a thing was possible. He’d shown his face, knew she could identify him.
He was going to kill her.
She slid her gaze around the room, looking for a weapon and, save a nail file that was out of her reach, came up empty.
“Now don’t do that, honey. It’ll only go worse for you.”
He walked across the room toward her, and she slowly backed away, matching each of his steps with one of her own. Soon, far too soon, she reached the wall, and he came to a stop in front of her.
“Just so you know, it’s nothing personal. They were just having a little fun that night, and your friend had to go ruin things. My buddy was laid up for three months. And then the bastard practically spit on us, acted all high and mighty when we offered a partnership.”
He must have sensed her confusion, for his brown eyes sparked and he chuckled. The sound made her skin crawl.
“Oh, you didn’t know? Well I’d take a pop at him, but he’s protected from on high. Lucky for me, you’re not.”
••••
D’yavol drove, a feeling of lightness surrounding him. They’d turned a corner, he and Julie. Sure, they still had things to work out, but the past couple of months had been revelatory. For the first time in a long time, he saw a different path, a way for him, with Julie, to live the simple, quiet life that had always seemed so out of reach.
He parked and jumped out of his car. Recently, he’d lessened his more vigilant practices. Julie had practically demanded a more traditional relationship, though not exactly in those words. And he had to admit he much preferred this new way; she deserved someone who would take her out, visit her, and have her visit him without worry. Not to mention, he wanted to show her, their relationship, off to the world. He smiled at the thought, the expression dropping a bit when he saw a couple of Steel Hearts standing on the corner. He didn’t know how, but they’d wormed their way into the bigger matches, and after several more attempts to lure him on their side, they seemed to get the message that he despised them and would never fight for them. And he did despise them, and the fights gave him the opportunity to demonstrate how much. A truce was essentially in effect, and he hoped that the understanding would continue to be respected. But still, he wanted Julie somewhere else. Independent as she was, he knew it would take some convincing, but he was hopeful she’d come around. Hell, he’d love to buy her a house.
Someday. The thought echoed in his mind as he entered the building through the front entrance—Julie had given him a key—and walked down the hall toward her door. His heart seized when he saw the thin sliver of light, but he tried to dismiss the feeling. She’d probably just forgotten to completely close the door.
He didn’t buy it.
Julie could be inattentive, at least in his opinion, which she’d argue against vehemently, but she’d never been careless. As he approached the door, a bone-deep sense of foreboding crept through him. He wanted to draw his gun but didn’t want to scare Julie if this was all a misunderstanding. In compromise, he settled his hand over it, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. Finally, he reached the door and pushed it open, intentionally not speaking to retain the element of surprise. His gaze swept the apartment, snagging momentarily on a figure on the floor. He closed the door behind him and hurriedly approached the figure, his heart stopping when he reached it.
It was Julie.
She was lying flat on her back, unmoving except for the slight tremor of the fingers of her left hand. It seemed she was reaching for something, maybe seeking purchase on the floor in an attempt to lift herself. Tears clogged his throat as he kneeled over her. A quick check of her pulse revealed it was elevated but strong, and she seemed to be breathing, for which he thanked God.
The rest of her had not fared as well. Her skin had a dull, faded pallor and lacked her usual healthy glow. Both of her eyes were puffy and discolored, soon to turn black. A trickle of blood leaked out of her nose, but it appeared unbrok
en. Her bottom lip was swollen, and he could see the dried, crusted blood in the corner. He looked down further, and saw the stark, vicious-looking marks on her arm; they were made by fingers, he wagered, and the sight of them a clear, undeniable, even more so than her other injuries, indication that someone had hurt her, triggered something inside him. It was beyond anger, beyond rage, beyond anything he’d ever felt.
He was going to kill who ever had done this. Of that there was no doubt.
But he pushed that fact aside and focused on Julie. He had to get her help.
“Julie,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and measured.
She moaned in response and tried to sit up, but at the first movement, her moan turned to a scream, and she fell back down flat. Should he call an ambulance, or take her himself? He’d take her. Who knew how long it would take an ambulance to arrive?
“Julie. Look at me, nebesa. I have to move you. It’s going to hurt. I’m sorry, but I’ll be as quick as I can.”
He’d never hurt her intentionally, but he didn’t have choice. He slid an arm under her knees and gingerly gripped her shoulders. He sucked in a breath when she shrieked at the contact.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he stood, Julie cradled in his arms as carefully as he could manage. He walked through the door and down the hallway, pausing for a moment to kick open the front door, before he rushed out and down the street, moving as fast as he could without hurting her too much.
When he reached the car, he debated trying to lay her across the backseat, but instead settled her in the front, his knees buckling when she screamed out in pain. He resisted the urge to linger and comfort her, instead rushing around to the driver’s side and entering the SUV, making every attempt not to rattle it with his weight. As he sped down the road, he was conscious of every bump and pothole, constantly wavering between the desire to drive as fast as the vehicle would let him and the desire not to jostle her unnecessarily.
After an eternity, he saw the Emergency sign shining like a beacon in the distance, and he sped up, making a sharp left turn into the hospital roundabout. The car had barely stopped before he was out and running around to the passenger side to retrieve Julie. He scooped her up again and ran toward the sliding glass doors, noting the range of expressions on the faces in the crowded lobby that ran the gamut from bored to interested to concerned.
He looked around wildly and saw Julie’s friend, the doctor who’d given him stitches before.
“You! Help her. Now!” he called out when he made eye contact with her.
Her eyes narrowed and then brightened with recognition as she ran across the waiting room with long strides, calling out, “Get a gurney!” as she moved.
The squeak of the gurney on the shiny floor was surreal, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. The instant he settled Julie on the cot, she was off, headed back behind a locked door marked Restricted Access.
“Don’t even think about leaving, Mr. Lawrence,” the doctor said, her voice as cold as her eyes were hot.
Like he could go anywhere until he knew Julie was okay.
The sound of his blood pumping through his body raced through his ears, drowning out all other noise, and that sense of unreality deepened. He looked down, eager to find something for his mind to latch onto, and he saw the rusty red of blood smeared across his forearm. It must have pooled there as he held Julie. He focused on the smear, imagined that blood trickling out of his beautiful nebesa. Imagined the unknown hand striking her. Imagined his sweet, gentle Julie terrorized in her own home, wondered if she’d called for him to help.
“You okay, man?”
The voice was far away, but he realized it was directed at him. He looked over toward the sound and saw the male nurse, dressed in scrubs like Julie so often wore, looking at him with concern. D’yavol curled his lip in a sneer, and fear crept into the man’s expression. D’yavol couldn’t blame him. He’d always had a clinical approach to violence, saw it as a means to an end, an unpleasant but necessary and effective tool of the trade. But now the anticipation thrummed through him like a current, the thought of what he’d do to the animal who’d harmed her the only thing tethering his rage. It was a thin cord, though, and he knew the nurse saw a dangerous man on the edge. He’d hold it together for now, but soon…
He would live up to his name.
Chapter Twelve
Pain, hot and sharp, pierced Julie’s consciousness. She tried to turn against the feeling and was rewarded with another sharp stab more intense than the first, if such a thing were possible. She groaned and tried to lift her arm, hoping she could maybe press the pain away, but her arm was bulky, heavy, and her attempts to move it only resulted in more pain, this time shooting down her arm.
She felt someone stroke her hair and whisper, “Shh. Be still.”
The voice soothed her, and she realized it was him.
“D-Dya…” She tried to speak but broke off when the breath leaving her chest sent yet another icy-hot stab of pain through her.
“It’s okay,” he said in a calm, soothing voice, his gentle strokes over her hair continuing unabated. “Just rest. I’ll be here.”
Then, his voice more distant, more troubled-sounding, “I think she’s in pain.”
“I’ll give her something,” a woman she eventually recognized as Shayla said.
She felt a tug on her hand, felt something cool entering her veins, and then the darkness reclaimed her.
••••
D’yavol watched as Julie fell back into a fitful sleep, her skin still that sickly, washed-out color, the drabness of the room seeming to heighten the effect. Most of the rooms in this hospital were two-person, but Julie’s friend had seen to it that Julie was alone, at least giving her privacy. And it helped him as well. He was in no frame of mind to interact with strangers.
“She’s tough. She’ll get through this. I’m Shayla, by the way.”
The doctor’s voice broke into his thoughts. He’d almost forgotten she was there, so deep was he in his head.
“I know,” he said without looking away from Julie, his throat drying when he noticed that the puffiness of her eyes and lip seemed to get worse by the minute.
“Mr. Lawrence,” Shayla said, her tone making him look over at her as she leaned against the room’s small vanity area, arms crossed over her chest, “do you care to explain to me how Julie Manchin, a woman who won’t even kill spiders, who hasn’t shared a cross word with anyone, even the belligerent crazies who work at or get treatment from this hospital, in the seven years I’ve known her, ended up in my emergency room beat to hell?”
Her voice was a whisper, but he could tell it was in deference to Julie. She looked like she would take his head off if she could, and from her expression, if they weren’t in the hospital, he didn’t doubt that she’d try.
“No, I don’t care to explain,” he said, still stroking Julie’s hair, unwilling to break even that tenuous contact.
The doctor sighed and gave him a riotous look. “But she’s not in any danger?” she asked.
D’yavol looked away but didn’t respond, but the doctor seemed to get the message. Not if he was around.
“Look, I have to get back to the ER, but stay with her. I get the feeling you’re the first person she’ll want to see.”
He nodded without looking up, and D’yavol heard the doctor’s retreating steps. Shayla cared about Julie, which was one small measure of comfort.
At least she’d have someone to look after her when he was gone.
He stood and looked at Julie a moment longer before he leaned over her unconscious form and placed a gentle kiss on her hair.
“I love you, Julie Manchin. And I always will.”
He left the room without looking back.
Chapter Thirteen
Four weeks later…
Julie gathered the rest of the belongings she’d accumulated over the weeks and took one last look around what had been her temporary home.
It w
as time for her to go.
She grabbed the bag and headed downstairs, stopping when she saw Shayla sitting at the kitchen table with her tablet and a cup of coffee.
“Morning, J. You want… Hey, why do you have a bag?” she asked as her brows knitted.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Shayla. I genuinely appreciate it. More than I can say, but I can’t stay here forever.”
“Who says?” she asked, her tone taking that mama-bear edge.
She smiled softly and shrugged. “I do. I need to get on with my life.”
“But you’re still hurt. You’ve barely been out of the hospital for three weeks.” Shayla gestured at the scrape and faint bruise still visible above Julie’s eye, the cast on her arm.
“I’m strong enough, and there’s nothing that won’t heal with time.” Julie sighed deeply, wistful, praying the statement was true.
Shayla pursed her lips, looked ready to argue, but said instead, “I can’t talk you out of this?”
“No. I have to start somewhere.”
“Will you at least stay for breakfast? I’ll drive you over after.”
“No. The walk will do me good.”
“But, Julie, you’re still—”
“The walk will do me good, Shay,” she said, her voice firm.
“If you’re sure…” Shayla said, though her voice and face betrayed her skepticism.
“I am.”
She hated to seem ungrateful, but this was the first step to getting her life back and moving on without… Tears clogged her throat, and she heard Shayla stand, felt her arms wrap around her in an embrace. She leaned into that hug in a way she hadn’t since she was a little, since long before her mother had left.
Since him.
Her shoulders shook as the tears flowed from her, hot and fast. She’d tried to hold the tears in, first when she woke up in the hospital, lucid enough to realize that he wasn’t there, then later, when she’d still held out hope that he’d come, and even later still when she could no longer deny that he wouldn’t. Thought that if she pushed it down long enough and hard enough, the pain would go away, so she’d pushed, and pushed.