Beneath These Scars

by Meghan March

  When Lucas pulled away and headed to the bathroom to dispose of the condom, reality once again intruded. But the tears stayed away. I might be a little ragged around the edges, but I no longer felt like I was going to shatter into tiny pieces.

  Had Lucas Titan just comforted me?

  His words echoed in my mind. Let me hold you together.

  Had he really meant it?

  I yawned, exhaustion enveloping me. Maybe I’ll take a quick nap . . .

  My eyes slid closed as the heaviness of sleep dragged me under moments later.

  HANDS BRACED ON THE COUNTER in my guest bathroom, I stared at myself in the mirror.

  What was I doing? I handled everything that came my way, but I didn’t insert myself into someone’s life and try to fix it. But I wanted to fix it all for Yve, even though she’d never let me.

  What did I do with her now? That was the question. I’d walked out of a meeting when Jerome had called and said she’d finally answered her phone. A meeting I shouldn’t have walked out of and needed to return to in order to deal with the aftermath. An empire like mine didn’t run itself.

  But I didn’t go. Instead, I’d sent Jerome to find Yve some clothes and handle Dirty Dog. Hennessy had told us that there was nothing left of her apartment, and I’d seen it for myself when I’d sped over there immediately afterward to discover Yve was nowhere to be found. I’d known she’d be taken somewhere by the Red Cross, but no one knew where. Rather than scour the neighborhood, I’d gone to the office and commenced calling her a ridiculous number of times.

  Why did I do that? I wasn’t sure.

  Probably because she was the most stubborn woman I’d ever met, and if I were right, she wouldn’t ask for help. She’d find her own way through a situation that no one should have to deal with on her own.

  My phone buzzed in the pile of clothes on the floor, and I bent to fish it out. Hennessy again.

  I’d gotten to know the detective when I’d been chasing after Vanessa Frost, and by chasing after I meant blackmailing. It had been expedient at the time, but hadn’t ended the way I’d planned.

  Before I answered, I glanced into the bedroom. Yve was tucked under the blanket, her eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell in a slow and even rhythm.

  I could’ve lost her today. That was unacceptable—as was the helplessness it dredged up inside me. No one would take her from me.

  I closed the bathroom door and answered the call. “What else do you know?”

  Hennessy didn’t miss a beat at my lack of greeting. “My buddy in arson says the dogs didn’t pick up any traces of accelerants around the exterior, but they won’t know more until the cause-and-origin guys get in there. Structure is still too hot to get inside and check it out. Still, even though the dogs didn’t find anything, he says he doesn’t usually see this kind of destruction from a simple gas leak. This is more along the lines of a major leak or an intentional leak. It definitely came from the downstairs unit that’s been empty a few days while the lady was on vacation.”

  Not Yve’s place.

  Relief came hard and fast until Hennessy added, “But the weird thing is that the lady whose apartment it was? She says she won the ticket to go visit her sister in a radio giveaway . . . from a station that doesn’t exist. No record of it. The ticket was couriered to her house the same day she won it and had to be used within forty-eight hours, which doesn’t sound like any radio giveaway I’ve ever heard of.”

  “Hell no, it doesn’t.”

  “What it sounds like is someone trying to make sure the place would be empty to potentially rig the stove and cause the explosion.”

  “What about the other tenant? What did she have to say? Did she have any enemies?”

  “From what I’ve been told, she worked at the postal service until she retired a couple months ago. Got bored and decided to take a job working third shift a couple weeks back. I need more time to dig, but from what she told me, she lives a pretty quiet life. So, the question is . . . what about Yve?”

  “Have you started digging?”

  “You know this isn’t my case, right? I’m just telling you what I’ve gotten from my contacts.”

  “Come on, Hennessy. You can’t tell me you’re not curious now.”

  “Sure I am, but I’ve got a ton of other shit on my desk that is my job that needs to get done today.”

  “Fine. I’ll ask her myself.”

  “Let me know what you find out.”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  We hung up, and I wondered if Yve would tell me any more than she’d told me last time, that night in my study after I’d found her in my pool.

  Now that her life could have been the price, the time for bullshit answers had passed. This all felt way too planned, and Yve’s fear made her the most likely target.

  I opened the door and crossed over to the bed. I’d let her sleep for a little longer, and then I would get some answers.

  Even if I had to fight Yve herself, I would keep her safe. She didn’t need to know it, but she’d joined the small circle of people I’d kill to protect.

  Jerome still hadn’t returned an hour later, and Yve hadn’t woken, but my patience to figure out what the hell had happened was wearing thin. I retrieved shorts and a T-shirt from my room and went back into the guest room.

  I was still six feet from the bed when Yve’s eyes snapped open.

  “I wonder if I’ll ever be able to sleep through any noise again,” she murmured, clearly talking to herself and not me. Sitting up, she pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes before dropping them to her lap and meeting my stare.

  “What?” she asked.

  I crossed to the bed and held out the clothes. “Here. Put these on. We need to talk.”

  Her expression shuttered immediately. “Can’t I just keep forgetting for a while?”

  “Forgetting isn’t going to help us figure out who tried to kill you.”

  All the ease that had remained in Yve’s body drained out instantly, and for a second I regretted it—but only a second.

  I needed to keep her alive. That was my first priority here. She could hate me as long as she was still alive, and I’d be happy with that. For now.

  She rolled to her side and snatched the clothes from me. Sitting up, she shook out the T-shirt and held it up. She’d be swimming in it, but it was the best I could do at the moment.

  “They’ll work until Jerome finds you something else,” I said.

  She slipped the shirt over her head, covering all of her gorgeous honey-colored skin. The shorts followed next.

  Standing, Yve straightened her shoulders and faced me. “Don’t put Jerome to the trouble. I’ll take care of that myself.”

  So damn stubborn.

  “Do you ever let anyone help you, Yve?”

  THE QUESTION HUNG IN THE air between us. Do you ever let anyone help you, Yve?

  It wasn’t the first time Lucas had asked it. I’d let Elle help me the night I found out that Jay was getting paroled. Well, sort of. I hadn’t wanted to be alone that night, and she’d offered a place to stay. I’d been her boss once upon a time, even though we both knew she’d only worked the job because she needed something to do and not for the money.

  “I feel like you’re the last person who should be judging me about this. When was the last time you accepted help? And by the way—why do you even want to help me? Again, you’re you. You’re not exactly the kind of guy who helps people like me.”

  “And if I want to help you?”

  I pointed to the clothes I wore. “I consider myself helped.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “Not yet, but I will.”

  The man wouldn’t drop it. “Are you going to stay with your family?”

  The word family never struck a particularly happy note in my heart. “No.”

  “Friends?”

  I’d already considered that. Charlie and Simon had room, but they were crazy into wedding planning right now. Elle and Lord l
ived in Lord’s little house not far from Chains, and they didn’t exactly have extra room. Vanessa and Con would probably offer, but that felt weird to me given my brief past history with Con before they’d gotten together.

  And that was the end of my list of friends. Six of them. Seven, if I counted Levi, who lived here.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted.

  Lucas gave me a brisk nod, as if something was decided. “Then you’ll stay here.”

  “I don’t do handouts,” I said, uneasiness filling me. I didn’t want to slide into that dynamic with Lucas—taking something for nothing. Whatever it was we’d been doing, we’d been on even ground, and that was what had made it okay in my mind.

  “It’s not a handout. I’m the guy you’re fucking. If I want to offer you a place to stay, how is that a big deal?”

  How is that a big deal? He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand.

  “Because I’m not a whore.”

  Lucas’s head tilted to the side. “You think I treat you like a whore? How? Tell me.” He paused. “Are you talking about last night? I don’t react well when I’m called an idiot. A moron. Stupid. It wasn’t . . . about you.”

  It wasn’t an apology, but he was showing signs of being a mortal man.

  “And yet being called an asshole doesn’t bother you?”

  A ghost of a smile spread over his lips. “No. Because that’s true.”

  I had to get off this subject. I didn’t want to see him as fallible, human. It made things . . . complicated. Dangerous. I remembered how he held me in the shower and carried me to bed. Yes, definitely dangerous.

  Lucas needed to keep playing the asshole card for me to hold on to this delicate balance between us. This concern, it wasn’t something I was used to, and it had the power to change everything.

  I tried to put the conversation back on track. “I can always put a cot in the back room of Dirty Dog.” Even as I said it, I knew I wouldn’t feel safe there either. Not as safe as I felt . . . right here.

  His lips flattened, annoyance with my stubbornness clear. “There’s a bed behind you that’s empty, and you have an open invite.”

  My resolve was crumbling. I fought to keep it solid.

  “What are the strings?” I asked, because in my experience, help always came with strings.

  He shook his head. “No strings, Yve. Unless you’re talking about the fact that I want to fuck you, but that’s no secret. This just makes it a hell of a lot more convenient.”

  “I don’t need you to fix this for me.”

  “I know, but you don’t need to do it all alone, Yve.”

  For a few moments, I let myself imagine what it would be like to accept his offer. The lure of safety was strong. The lure of Lucas himself was even stronger.

  I was wavering when his jaw tightened and he came closer. Gesturing to the bed, he said, “Sit. We need to talk. Seriously.”

  The sudden change in his tone sent apprehension crawling over me like a pack of spiders. “Talk about what?”

  “About who the hell would want you dead. Because I just got off the phone with Hennessy, and his buddy at the fire department doesn’t think this was an accident.”

  “But the explosion came from downstairs. It wasn’t—”

  He told me about how Mrs. Jones won a ticket to see her sister on a radio station that didn’t exist. Apprehension turned to good old-fashioned fear.

  “But still—”

  Lucas—when had he become Lucas to me instead of Titan?—turned my chin to face him. “You’re in denial, and you’re lying to me. If there’s anyone who understands what it means to have secrets, it’s me. But when those secrets start putting your life in danger, it’s time to come clean to someone who can help you.”

  My determination to be strong and deal with this all by myself suffered another foundation-shaking blow.

  “Why? Why would you want to help me?”

  “Because despite the fact that I’m an asshole, I’m not the kind of asshole who’s going to let you face whatever the hell is going on here by yourself.”

  I didn’t know what I’d been expecting him to say, but that wasn’t it.

  Wait, what had I expected him to say? That he cared about me?

  At what point in this not friends but we’ve got some benefits thing we had going on had I started to care about him?

  I’d watched him swim last night, wondering what the hell had made him flip so quickly, and had lain in bed thinking about it. And this morning when my house had gone up in flames, he’d been the first person I’d wanted to call, but I hadn’t let myself. Because somehow . . . some way . . . Lucas Titan had become that person for me. The one I wanted to be around. The one I wanted to tell things to. The one who took up more space in my brain than anyone else.

  No way. Impossible.

  Lucas’s words from earlier echoed through my brain. Nothing’s impossible.

  How had I let this happen? Another rich guy? One who wanted nothing from me but my body, which was all I was supposed to want from him.

  If I wanted anything else from him, I was going to be in trouble. Because it was guaranteed I wasn’t that person for Lucas. Men like him didn’t look at women like me for anything more than what he was already getting. Right?

  Could he see me as something more? A ribbon of hope curled through me . . . until my mama’s voice smothered it. He won’t buy the cow if you give the milk away for free, girl.

  Well, at least Mama took her own advice. Could I take Lucas’s and accept his help? Weariness settled in my bones from trying to be so strong all the time. What would it be like to let someone be strong for me?

  “Yve, just tell me what the hell is going on.”

  I decided to relent, to let him in. As much as I could, anyway.

  “I have an ex. He’s not my biggest fan,” I finally admitted. Mentally I acknowledged that this was the understatement of the century.

  “And he’s the one you’re afraid of?”

  My knee-jerk reaction was to say that I wasn’t afraid, but I couldn’t conjure the words. They were a lie. An outright lie. My muscles tensed, readying me to run every time I thought about Jay being outside the cage where he belonged. But I couldn’t admit that; I didn’t want to see pity on Lucas’s face. That would be humiliating.

  So I went for vague. “It didn’t end well and he’s been gone a while, and now I think he might be back. I don’t know for sure where he is, but better people than me have tried to track him down, and can’t.” Lucas opened his mouth, but I continued quickly. “I’m not going to tell you his name, and you’re not going to find him for me.”

  A low noise—it could easily be called a growl—rumbled from him. “Why not?” Each word was enunciated clearly.

  Because I don’t want to change the way you look at me, I thought. Instead, I said, “Because I want my past to stay in my past. And honestly, that explosion wasn’t his style.”

  That scared me the most—I didn’t know who would do something like that. Yes, Jay was the only one who made sense, and I guessed it could be possible that he’d developed a whole new brand of crazy in prison.

  “What exactly was his style?” Lucas asked, sounding as if he was speaking through clenched teeth.

  I looked up at him. Sure enough, that telling muscle in his jaw ticked. Knowing that his anger was on my behalf softened something in me. I swallowed, but my mouth had gone dry.

  “He was more the physical type.” I kept my eyes on Lucas’s when I explained, “He liked to see firsthand the damage he caused.”

  “That first night here, when you flinched, you thought I was going to hit you. That’s why, isn’t it?”

  “I didn’t think you were going to hit me. It’s a hard reaction to shake, though. It’s been a long time since anyone raised a hand to me, but sometimes my body doesn’t remember that.”

  “But he did.”

  I nodded.

  Lucas reached down and picked up my arm, his thumb runn
ing along the faint white scar that marked it. “And what was this?”

  Just the reminder brought back the memories of the gut-twisting pain. “He broke my arm because a shirt I’d ironed wasn’t up to his standards. Compound fracture. The skin split way further than you would’ve thought.”

  “Jesus Christ, Yve. Why isn’t he dead?” His voice was low and serious.

  Because I didn’t own a gun to protect myself at the time didn’t seem like an awesome answer, although it was the truth.

  “I don’t know. Not my call.”

  “He deserves to be.”

  “Yeah, he does,” I agreed, feeling no remorse for the sentiment.

  “And you won’t give me his name?”

  I shook my head.

  “And you realize I could get it with almost no effort.”

  I met his gaze and held it. “Please don’t. Just leave it be.”

  “I don’t think you understand what kind of man I am. Because it’s not the kind who can let a piece of trash like him keep breathing while you live in fear.”

  “You sound like some kind of street hood who offs people who get on your bad side.”

  When he didn’t smile, laugh, or even reply, I didn’t know what to say.

  A few heartbeats later, he said again, “Just give me a name.”

  “Please leave it be. It’s over now.”

  “I beg to differ. You’re homeless. Even if you won’t admit it, you believe that explosion was meant for you.”

  Bile rose in my throat when he put it so plainly. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced it down. I was done thinking about this for now.

  “Shit, Yve. Just let me—”

  I opened my eyes and met his. “Can we just drop it for now? I . . . I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Dirty Dog should already have been open for an hour. I latched on to something I could control rather than this threat I wasn’t able to wrap my arms around—or the shifting sands that were my feelings about Lucas Titan. “You need to get back to work, and so do I.”

  He shook his head. “You’re not going to work. Jerome should be there by now. He’ll talk to your temp and make sure the shop runs smoothly.”