The Dirty Dozen: Damsel Edition

by Kay Maree

  My vision turns red and rage like I’ve never felt before infuses every nerve ending. Hunting, tracking, finding, and then killing whoever hurt my girl like this is all I can focus on. That is until Lani’s hoarse, unsure whisper breaks through my violence-fueled fantasies.

  “Babe,” I utter, dropping to my knees beside her.

  Lani doesn’t hesitate to fling her arms around my neck and bury her head in my chest. I can feel her tears soaking the front of my shirt while I absorb and commit to memory every body-wracking shudder of her tiny frame.

  Turning to face the paramedic when he speaks, I tighten my hold on Lani as he explains what’s going on.

  “Your girlfriend sustained significant injuries to her larynx when Mr. Westbrook choked her. She’s assured us she didn’t lose consciousness, but from what we garnered from her friend before the police took he into custody it was a close call. And regardless of her state of undress when we got here, Miss Scott is adamant the assailant didn’t sexually assault her but that being said, we’d still like her to go to the hospital to be examined.”

  “He didn’t touch me, Blake,” Lani whimpers as my hold on her tightens exponentially. “I’m okay, I promise. I just want to go home.”

  I wish I could take her home, tuck her into bed and keep her there for the rest of our lives so I know she’s safe, but that’ll have to come after we make what I hope is a quick trip to hospital.

  “Let the doctors be the judge of that, baby. I want them to check you over, make sure nothing else is wrong then I’ll take you home. Okay?” I prompt when she doesn’t answer.

  “Nothing else happened. He wanted to...I mean, he was going to, but Brittany screamed at him and hit him over the head with something before he got the chance. She saved me, Blake. If it weren’t for her, I-I don’t know what would have happened.”

  I do, and after tonight, that’s not something I want to think about ever again.

  I could have lost Lani tonight. Some asshole piece of shit nearly took her from me and there was nothing I could do about it. Never again. Never will I let her or I feel helpless again. If it takes me dropping her off and picking her up every day, so she feels safe and I know she is then so be it, but I’ll be goddamned before I let anyone harm a hair on Lani’s head ever again.

  “Where is she, Blake?” Lani questions. “I want to see her so I can thank her. I didn’t get the chance before they separated us.”

  Without considering her reaction, I say, “The police have her down the station for questioning. They were putting her in a police car when Burke and I got here.”

  Lani’s body jerks, then before I can stop her, she gets up and jumps down off the tailgate, heading directly for Burke. “Where did they take her?” She demands as soon as she makes it to his side.

  Burke’s arm comes to rest across Lani’s shoulders, his head tipping down to meet her angry gaze. “Southside station. Police who took her in said they wanted to ask her some shit about an assault with a deadly weapon but they wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

  “That’s bullshit,” my girl snaps viciously. “Brittany saved my life and this is how they treat her? Well, fuck that and fuck them. Where’s my damn phone,” she mutters, marching back to the ambulance and snatching up her purse.

  If Lani weren’t so cute right now and her anger didn’t prove just how okay she is, I’d be throwing her tight little ass over my shoulder and demanding she get checked out.

  Finding what she’s looking for, Lani stabs at the screen of her phone and then places it to her ear. “Mr. Marshall? Hi, it’s Lani, Brittany’s friend. I’m sorry it’s so late but I was attacked tonight and Brittany saved me but the police have taken her away for questioning. Yes, sir,” she nods, smiling like a loon. Fuck me. “Um, yes. Okay. Uh-huh. My boyfriend’s brother said they took her to Southside station, do you know where that is? Yep. Okay. See you soon.”

  Lani spins around, gifting me with a radiant smile, one I didn’t think I’d see for quite some time if I’m being honest. “Brittany’s dad said he and her brother will meet us at the station. Now, let’s go.”

  “Uh, aren’t you forgetting something, babe?” I ask, hooking her with an arm around her waist, halting her progress.

  “Nope,” she shakes her head. “I’m happy to see any doctor you want, but not until I know Brittany is okay and they’re letting her go. She didn’t do anything wrong; Simon did,” Lani confesses her attackers name, sealing his fate.

  I don’t get a chance to argue, what with Burke storming off toward my car, taking my keys with him. “If you’re coming with, then move you asses. Every minute we waste here, Brit spends sitting in a fucking cell.”

  Hmm, didn’t know my big brother knew my girl’s friend well enough to give her a nickname, but there you have it. Something to explore later I think.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brittany

  “I’m so glad the doctor said you’ll be okay,” I smile from my place beside Lani on her huge, super comfortable bed. If I didn’t love her so much and she didn’t need her rest right now, I’d consider stealing it.

  Alas, my plans will require a delay, considering Lani was just prescribed a few days of bed rest while she heals. That’s fine, though. I can hack sleeping on my lumpy, old as shit mattress for a little while longer while I plot my grandiose bed-napping plan.

  “I’m more than okay thanks to you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up when you did,” Lani sniffles.

  God, please don’t cry. I’m not good with crying people, far from it. I never know what to do or say. Do I pat them on the back and chant there, there like you see in Hallmark movies, or do I just ignore it and hope it goes away?

  I’m not heartless, quite the opposite in fact. I care too much, but I’ve just got no idea how to show it. You can blame my dad and my brother for that. As far as I’m concerned, those two chest beating Neanderthals emotionally stunted me.

  Most girls my age would be all about the consoling, offering words of wisdom and chocolate at exactly the right intervals. Me, though? I’m far more likely to offer to give you a tattoo to remind you that pain is fleeting but bad choices are forever than to take part in some archaic female bonding ritual. Thankfully, Lani isn’t the girly-girl type, so I think I’m safe from having to paint her toenails every color of the rainbow before letting her cry on my shoulder for hours on end.

  Obviously, I’m silent for too long when Lani goes on to say, “Blake said we can reschedule the party if you’re still interested in coming.”

  “We live in the same building, babe and you know I’m up for a good party anytime, but do you think it’s the right time to be thinking about that sort of thing? I mean, wasn’t it just yesterday that you had a run in with a crazed stalker and ended up in the hospital?”

  Probably not the best thing to say, but it’s all I’ve got.

  Lani’s expression sours but thank the God almighty she doesn’t start leaking. “You really are crap at this sort of thing aren’t you?” She asks, her lips tilting upwards at the corners.

  A while ago over coffee one morning, I may or may not - and by that I mean, I absolutely did - share some of my history with Lani. I told her about what it was like to grow up with an ex-army ranger for a dad, and a currently enlisted badass for a brother. She listened as I waxed poetic about the injustices I had to endure when it came to my teenage years and dating, and she laughed, albeit somewhat inappropriately when I shared with her my dad’s propensity to still occasionally show at my apartment with his gun right around the time I’m due to be picked up by a date.

  In hindsight, it was stupid of me to divulge some of my less than stellar attributes. Especially since she seems bound and determined to use the, against me.

  “I did warn you,” I finally reply. “I’ve been ruined for polite company of the female persuasion, so if you expect me to be Sally Sensitive, you’re shit out of luck.”

  “I wou
ldn’t dream of it, and certainly not after I kinda saw you in action,” she reminds me of the night that will be engrained in my memory forever more.

  “How about we change the subject?” I suggest. “I’d be willing to discuss male anatomy one-oh-one, debate whether pineapple belongs on pizza or not, or the impact of global warming on dwindling penguin populations. Ladies choice.”

  Granted, I don’t know the first fucking thing about penguin populations, but I’ll give it my best shot if that’s the direction she chooses to go in.

  “How about you just tell me what went on between you and Burke at the hospital,” she grins at me widely. “Because between you, me and the fencepost, those curtains aren’t as soundproof as they’re advertised to be.”

  “How about I don’t and we say I did?” I say in response because honestly, the last thing I want to do is talk about her one day soon-to-be brother in-law. The truth is, I’d take torture by waterboarding over having to discuss all of the ways in which that man irks me.

  Forget the fact that the man is too handsome for his own good with all that slightly wavy dark hair, his unique pale gray eyes and beautifully toned body that has women’s panties spontaneously combusting in the streets; the man is a menace to a woman’s sanity. Burke Kensington is an infuriating, chauvinistic excuse for a male that’s stuck somewhere between the dark and iron ages for all the evolutionary advancements he’s made.

  The first time I encountered him, he was sitting in a chair at the Savage Skin competing the last session of his full-sleeve tattoo. In my infinite wisdom, I struck up a conversation with him as I often do with clients, only to be told it’d probably be better if I return to my place behind the desk and served the solitary customer that was standing there.

  Dean, the artist inking him laughed his ass off, not bothering to point out just how wrong Burke was. Instead, he left defending my honor up to me, which just for the record, wasn’t Dean’s smartest move to date.

  It’s then I proceeded to chastise him soundly, explaining that I had been mentored by one of the best artists in Montana, finishing my apprenticeship in record time. I earned my station at Savage Skin. No favors. No handouts. No special treatment. I have a steady clientele, most of them return customers that refuse to be inked by anyone but me and who are willing to wait up to three months for an appointments because I’m just that good.

  That’s not my blowing my own horn, either. It’s the pure, unadulterated truth.

  I wish I could tell you things got better after that, but they didn’t. Every time I saw Burke ether in passing or at the shop, his barbs got sharper and my responses shorter until we no longer conversed at all. I would have been happy to keep thing that way too, but apparently the status quo goes right out the window when I caveman senses a woman in danger.

  Which brings us to last night.

  Burke showed up at the police station, demanding that I be released immediately. Obviously the officers didn’t comply, stating that I was yet to be questioned but that he was more than welcome to wait. And wait he did. Burke planted himself in a way too small plastic chair by the front desk and didn’t move until my dad steamrolled his way into the interrogation room I was being held in, threatening to have everyone fired or worse if they didn’t let his baby girl go.

  Mortification isn’t a strong enough word for what I felt at that moment. I’ve been self-reliant for going on four years, but there my dad was treating me like a wayward teenager who needed her daddy to bail her out of a bind. Call me stubborn, but right then, part of me would have preferred to spend the night in a jail cell just to prove to him I was capable of surviving without his assistance.

  “I’m waiting,” Lani prompts, rolling to her side so that she’s facing me.

  Biting the bullet because satan knows she won’t give up until I dish, I say, “It’s not all you’re cracking it up to be. Burke waited at the station until dad got there, they bellowed and beat on their chests, grunted a few times at the right people and then we parted ways. And no, before you ask, I haven’t seen him since.”

  “If I believe you, then that’s sadly anticlimactic,” Lani sighs. “I thought he’d throw you over his shoulder and carry you off to his lair at the very least.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, but there was no shoulder throwing or carrying anywhere to be seen. But on a lighter note, I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to be making all of the jokes.”

  “There can be if that’s the sort of shit you’re interested in,” a deep and instantly recognizable voice sounds from far too close for my liking.

  Lani shoots me what I interpret as an apologetic glance before answering for me, bless her heart. “We were talking about you, not to you. And anyway, what are you doing here? Blake said you were coming over but that it wouldn’t be until later.”

  Burke looks at Lani and then me before shaking his head. “There any reason you wouldn’t want me here now? Because the way I see it, you’ve both been left to your own devices for too long if you’ve resorted to talking about me.”

  No truer words have ever been spoken.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Burke

  Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

  No word of a lie, Brittany Marshall is the sexiest woman to ever walk the planet and I’ll be damned if I don’t convince her to take a chance on me.

  I’m not saying that I want forever; I don’t even know if I’m capable of being in a long-term relationship. But what I do know is that I want more than one night with her. More than one night to explore her delicious curves and feel the silky strands of her bright purple hair wrapped around my fist.

  I need to see her spread out for me like a feast, naked, writhing, begging me to fuck her as I torture her pussy with my tongue. Visions of her on her knees, swallowing my cock make it hard to stand her with a straight face as my dick punches at my zipper, demanding to be set free so that he can conquer his prey.

  Brittany won’t make this easy for me, but that’s one of the many things I like about her. She knows her own mind, she’s stubborn as fuck, and she doesn’t shy away from putting me in my place. It might sound strange to you, but when I’ve had nothing but muffler bunnies, bar flies, and random women on the street throwing themselves at me for no other reason than my reputation with the opposite sex proceeding me, I’m all in for a good challenge. And Brittany is most assuredly that and then some.

  I won’t lie, I get off on pushing her buttons. The twisted part of me enjoys seeing her riled up and spoiling for a fight. Her strength and backbone is sex as hell, and is only rivalled by her insanely attractive appearance, sharp tongue and quick wit.

  In short, there’s a fuck of a lot to like about the woman who stars in every last one of my increasingly frequent fantasies, and I plan to add more to that list as soon as she’ll give me the time of day.

  “Didn’t your mother ever teach you it is rude to stare?” The little vixen snaps, reminding me that I’m standing at the threshold of my brothers bedroom. Not exactly the appropriate place to be fantasizing, now is it?

  Trying and failing to shake the images of Brittany bent over the edge of the bed, taking every last inch of my cock as I pound into her from behind, I cross one ankle over the other, hoping to hide the monster hard-on just being in her proximity has caused.

  “I might have heard that a time or two, but the better question is what are you gonna do about it?” I goad, desperate to see how far she’s going to take this before she remembers Lani is in the room.

  My heart hammers in my chest as I watch her run her hands through her hair. The heavy weight of it caresses her shoulders, falling down her back in thick rivers of purple and pink. On anyone else I’d hate it, but on Brittany it just suits her.

  Nothing about this woman is average. She wasn’t built to be a clone like a lot of the other women her age. At twenty-two where most women are just coming into themselves, Brittany has already established who she is. She is unapologetic as it per
tains to her strange fascination with hair dye, the ink that adorns her skin, and her wildly varied taste in music. Brittany doesn’t care what people think about her or how she lives her life, unless they share the same surname as her. And even then it’s a crap shoot whether your opinion matters or not.

  I had the not so distinct pleasure of meeting Brittany’s old man last night, and while he wasn’t unpleasant so to speak, he definitely wasn’t all that happy to see a strange man showing interest in his daughter. From the few words he said to me, I got the impression that he’d sooner gut me with a blunt pairing knife than to give me permission to date his only daughter. Not that I blame him. Like I said, my reputation isn’t all that stellar, nor is it a secret around town.

  I like women. Tall, short, thin, curvy; to me all women are beautiful. How they smell, how they taste, the feel of their smooth as silk skin. And up until now I’ve partaken often and regularly in indulging my urges for the fairer sex.

  It’s not her dad’s business, it never will be, but what he isn’t aware of it that all the women that have graced my bed are forewarned about what they’re getting themselves into. One night, maybe two at a stretch if I’m really feeling the chick I’ve taken home but that’s it. No repeat performances. No texting, calling, or follow up dates. I fuck, I do it hard, and I make damn sure they enjoy themselves before I say goodbye to them in the morning.

  Then I met Brittany.

  I’d love to tell you I completely curtailed my activities, but I didn’t. I still picked up women, though not as frequently and the same rules still applied. What did change, was how I felt the morning after. A niggling feeling in the pit of my gut told me what I was doing was wrong, that shit needed to change if I had a chance in hell at being with the feisty, bad-tempered woman that had sparked something inside me I’d never experienced before.