Zach’s arms wrap around me, pulling me onto his lap. Rubbing my back, he rocks me side to side. His warm chest soaks up my tears.
My sobs turn to hiccups as the worst of the impact of my realization drains out. “Those fucking bitches ruined my life.”
“What, sweets?” Zach’s voice is quiet and soft.
I pull away from his chest and wipe the snot from my face with the hem of my T-shirt. With the backs of my hands, I swipe away the remainder of my tears from my angry, puffy eyes.
Pulling in a shaky breath and letting it out slowly, I explain, “I was always quiet, withdrawn, for as long as I could remember. I think I was seven or eight when Kim started in on me. She was popular and had money, so when she said my mom was a whore, everyone else said it, too. At first, I didn’t know what that was, but I figured it out quickly when I’d get these nasty notes asking how much money I cost.” I shudder. “Now that I think about it, that’s seriously sick. Who asks a seven-year-old how much she costs?” I pause. “Actually, that was probably Kim, too.”
I let the thought roll around in my head for a while, finding it strangely settling and warming. My guys let me have my silence. Finally, I go on, “So, I started paying attention. I figured out what the hookers on the streets were doing, and since my mom had dressed like that, I thought what the kids were saying was true.” I sigh. “Adults would look at me funny, like I was a bug or something, and I thought it was because of my mom and because I was part her…”
“Fuck, baby.” Zach’s voice is broken.
“I didn’t know Kim’s parents, but I almost feel bad that her mom poisoned Kim’s mind like that. Then, Erin kill—” My voice breaks, and a tear wells up.
I close my eyes, and the drop trails down my cheek. Zach’s warm hand cups my jaw, and his thumb sweeps the tear away.
I finish on a whisper, “She took away my mama.”
“Bee.” Matt’s voice is hoarse, and the weight of his hand hits my back and rubs circles. “She’ll see justice.”
My eyes flutter open. “There’s no such thing as justice for this. She took away my mom’s future. My mom could have cleaned up her act, and she could have gotten married. She lost out on seeing me grow up, and I lost out on having a mom.”
“You’re right, honey. No justice for something like this.” Zach’s voice dips. “Got one more to lay on you.”
My eyes close, and I plant my face in his chest. His arms tighten around me for a long moment before he loosens them.
I finally say, “Lay it on me.”
He’s silent for a moment. “Fuck, sweetheart.”
I lift my head to look up at him with my eyebrows pulled together. “What?”
He cups my jaw and swipes his thumb again, making my face soften and my belly warm. As I’ve done for the last month, I don’t ignore the feeling. I treasure it, knowing every moment of having the real Zach and all of him is a true gift.
“Strength, sweets. You got it in spades.”
My eyebrow shoots up. “Did you miss my hysterical breakdown?”
His lip twitches, and I feel that in my heart. I love his lip twitches.
“No, sweets, can’t say I missed that since seeing you like that shredded me.”
I don’t like the thought of him feeling shredded, but I like the thought of him feeling that deeply for me.
His eyes drift across my face, and his face gentles. “Love that.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Love what?”
He grins. “Love watching your face go soft and totally unguarded like that.”
I bite my lip in order not to giggle like a little girl. “Love that you love that.”
The happiness in his eyes shifts, making them intense and heated. He dips his head and kisses me. His tongue dives in, plundering, claiming, drawing the breath out of me. My heart thumps in my chest—not out of fear or anxiety the way I’m used to, but in a good way. It’s like my heart is beating because he’s kissing life back into me.
A throat clears, making Zach rip his mouth from mine. I glance over my shoulder, my cheeks warming, as my eyes grow wide.
Me—embarrassed about making out. The thought is laughable, but there it is.
“Hate, and I mean, loathe that I’m breaking the intense moment, but we got one more thing to share.” Matt’s pursed lips and furrowed brows punctuate the fact that he hates interrupting a happy moment.
Zach lets out a heavy breath. “Right. Brace yourself, baby.”
My muscles lock tight.
He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Erin also admitted to burning down your apartment.”
My head jerks back, my lips parting. “What the fuck?”
“Yeah. Said you were honing in on her daughter’s fiancé.”
My eyes grow huge. “You’re shitting me.”
Zach cups my jaw. “Bright side, babe.”
My eyes narrow. “Bright side?”
“Fuck yeah, bright side. Her doing that fucked-up shit led us together a fuck of a lot faster than it would have gone otherwise.”
I tilt my head to the side in a touché movement. “Still, what the fuck?”
“Bright side, babe.”
“What?”
“You win.” His voice is just above a whisper.
My forehead creases. “What?”
“You win. Those bitches spent a lot of time and effort tearing you down for no reason other than they were nuts and saw nothing but green. But, babe, you’re the one opening her own business, and you’re the one building something fucking solid with me. Kim’s alone, and Erin’s sitting in a jail cell. You win.” He holds my eyes as what he said settles deep in my gut. “It’s gonna take some time to grieve, sweets. I got your back, and Matt’s got your back for you to do that. You grieve your mom, and you come to terms with the fucked-up scenario you were raised in, but you do it, knowing that as strong as you are, you’ll come out the other side even stronger. Babe, you win.”
That’s how he’s summed up the situation.
Simple as that.
I win.
I was handed a life that screwed with me from day one.
I win.
I know I have shit I’ve gotta work through, but I also know I got family in Matt and Krissy. Most importantly, I have a man who truly cares at my back. That settles somewhere new in my heart, somewhere I love, somewhere that feels fucking good—no, not good.
Magnificent.
Life tried to screw me, but Zach is right.
Fuck them.
I win.
Two Months Later
“You ready?” I call from the kitchen, gathering my shit. I put my wallet in the back pocket of my black slacks, cell in the pocket of my dark gray coat, and my Glock 22 in the shoulder holster next to my midnight blue dress shirt.
“Yeah.” Her heels click down the hall, announcing her arrival. “This look okay? I’ve never been to Eddie’s.”
Glancing up, I catch her silver heels. They make a crisscross pattern along the top of her feet and around her ankles, and the heel is tall and stick thin.
“Jesus.” I can’t make my way up the rest of her because her fucking shoes are that goddamn hot.
“What?”
Holding up a finger, I force my eyes to travel up her calf, that crease in her leg muscle standing out. My mouth waters, wanting to lick it. The upside-down V muscle in her thigh just above the knee stands out, having nearly the same effect on my body as her calf. Three inches above the knee, a jade green sweater dress hugs her thighs and her hips and dips in at the waist. Her perky high tits are covered as well as from her arms all the way up to just under her collarbone. Her makeup is heavier than normal, making her green eyes pop. Her hair is piled on top of her head, a few curls falling out to frame her face.
“Fuck.”
“What?” Her arms go out as she looks down, assessing herself. She looks back at me, her brows drawn. “Is it too much? I thought Eddie’s was fancy.”
“Sweets, the fuck is
because when you walked in, my dick went half-mast. I think it’s frowned upon to walk around a restaurant with my cock straining against my pants.”
She grins, and it hits her dancing eyes. She winks and then does a slow turn. The dip in the dress goes down near her ass, exposing the creamy skin of her back. Her ass is tight, toned to perfection, and the same with her legs.
My dick jumps.
“Fuck, woman, get over here.” My tone is low, and my voice is hoarse.
She catwalks her way to me, her wicked grin in place.
The last two months have been Solid, and the solid we’ve had necessitates the capital S. We run, we work, we bicker, we laugh. She cooks, and I eat. She cleans, and I’ve learned to leave her to it, seeing as it seems to calm her. There have been days that have been hard on her. Little things remind her of her mom, or I’ve learned more recently, about her foster home. Every day starts with her beside me, and it ends the same way.
I fucking love it.
I fucking love her.
I haven’t told her the warmth that surrounds my heart and makes me smile every time I look at her, hear her voice, or even fucking think about her. She’s mine, and Christ, I’m hers. I’m taking it slow, one day at a time, and I’ll tell her when I think she’s ready to hear it.
Until then, I say shit like what I say next.
“Love that dress, sweets.”
When she gets close, I hook an arm around her waist and pull her to me, plastering her front to mine.
“Love your shirt.” Her eyes soften.
My pulse picks up. “Love your hair.”
Her lips tip up with an easy smile, and her eyes shine. She lifts her hand and traces my bottom lip with her index finger. “Love your lips.”
My breathing shallows, and if I’m taking her words the way she seems to be meaning them, she’s saying the same thing I am.
I cup her jaw with my hand and sweep my thumb across her freckles. I dip my head, so my lips are an inch from hers. “Love your freckles.”
Her hot breath hits my lips, and my muscles bunch in an effort not to tackle her to the floor.
“Love your cock.”
I jerk then. Throwing my head back, I full-on belly laugh. Letting that feeling slide through me, my chest lightens. Still chuckling, my eyes hit hers. “Love the love you give my cock, sweets.”
Her smile brightens her face. That’s been happening more and more and coming easier and easier. Soon, it’ll be second nature.
I lean down and kiss her nose. Then, I let her go and tug her hand with mine. “We’ve got a reservation. If we don’t stop talking about you and my dick, we might not make it there on time. Although I wouldn’t mind celebrating you being set to unleash your goods on the masses horizontal, I heard anticipation makes the reward sweeter.”
Her smile dies, and her eyes glaze with tears. “Yeah.”
Pulling her close again, I wrap my arms tight around her shoulders as hers go around my waist. “Sweetheart.”
“Finally did it, Zach.” Her voice is muffled in my chest. “Wish my mom could have seen it.”
Her words slice through me. I can’t do shit to take her pain away beyond doing what I’m doing. I close my eyes as her arms squeeze tighter.
“Glad I got you here though.”
Eyes still closed, I crush her tighter. “Me, too.”
She pulls in a breath, and it catches in her throat. Then, she loosens her arms. “Okay.”
Okay.
Sweet.
Strong.
Fuck, I love her.
It’s at the tip of my tongue, but the moment is broken when she speaks, “Let’s go, so we can celebrate horizontally later.”
Half an hour later, we’re in the restaurant. She has a Diet Coke, and I’ve got a beer.
“You don’t drink ’cause of your mom?”
She presses her lips together. “Yeah.”
Her answer settles like a lead weight in my gut. “Ever had a drink in your life?”
She shakes her head.
I lean back in my chair. “Seriously?”
She rolls her eyes, and my blood heats, knowing she’s getting feisty.
“So what? I don’t drink. You’re acting like I said I don’t know how to tie my shoe. Who cares?”
Keeping my calm, I run my tongue under my top lip. “It’s not that you don’t drink. It’s why you don’t drink.” I soften my tone. “Part of letting that go is having a glass of wine or champagne or something to celebrate.”
Her eyes slide away.
I open my mouth to speak, but my cell vibrates in my pocket. Pulling it out, I read, Matt Calling. It’s Sunday, but it’s still Matt and my weekend on call.
“Sorry, sweets, I gotta take this.” I push my chair back and stand.
Her eyes hit mine, and the sadness in them makes the weight in my gut heavier. She averts her eyes again and nods.
Tapping my phone, I put it to my ear. “Gimme a second.” Then, pulling it away, I meander through the busy restaurant and onto the sidewalk outside. The October air is chilly but not uncomfortable. It’s the perfect football weather.
Finding a spot off to the side, I put the phone to my ear.
“…before his body hit the floor. They have an—”
I interrupt Matt, “Wait. What the fuck is going on?”
He pauses. “How much did you hear?”
“Fucking nothing. I told you to give me a second.”
Another pause follows. “Right. Erin Pierce got stabbed in the throat during group therapy. She’s dead.”
“Fucking hell.” I drop my head and stare at the sidewalk.
Erin Pierce was in a psych ward for just over a month. After a full and thorough mental evaluation, she had been deemed unfit to stand trial. I’d thought this was fucking bullshit, but I couldn’t do one fucking thing about it. When the announcement was made, Becca had a hard time. She had been having nightmares, bad ones, that sent her vomiting in the bathroom for a week. They were all different but the same—all of her mom, all of her dying, but in different ways. Until then, she still had the occasional bad dream, but these were bad—nearly as bad as the one she had in her apartment.
“Yeah. Unfortunately, that’s not the worst of it.”
My neck tightens. “Jesus, what the fuck now?”
A couple pushes through the door, laughing hard enough that it’s difficult to hear Matt, so I turn my back to it and put a finger in my other ear.
The phone crackles, and I’m assuming he’s pulling in a breath. “Didn’t tell you about Erin ’cause I know you have the celebration with Becca tonight, and fuck, I hate to say it, but I gotta pull you in.”
My gut squeezes and sinks. “What happened?”
The door opens behind me.
“Standing over Robert Pierce’s body right now, man. Head blown off from the back. Dead before he hit the floor.”
My chest compresses, and my back snaps straight. “Fuck. Kim?”
“Got units out looking for her now. Seems like the strongest suspect.”
“Fuck.” I drop my head. “Right. I’m at Eddie’s now. I’ll get Becca and drop her by our place before I head over. What’s the address?”
“No. Drop her by the station.”
My head snaps up. “Fuck, you think—”
A bone-chilling scream comes from the restaurant just as the door flies open, and people pour out.
Fuck. “Send units to Eddie’s. Don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is sent people running from the place. I’ll check back when I know what’s happening.” Without waiting for a response, I end the call and slide my phone into my blazer pocket.
Pushing through fleeing people is like swimming against the Mississippi, but the adrenaline thundering through my veins, energizing my senses, helps me meander through the masses while I keep my eye out for Becca.
“You stupid fucking cunt! You killed her! You killed her! You killed her!”
My heart ratchets into overdrive,
and fear freezes my lungs at the sound of Kim’s voice.
Finally, I push through and find the place nearly empty, save for a few people crouched on the floor under their tables. My world stops for half a second when I take in Kim wearing a black tracksuit, pointing a motherfucking gun at Becca.
Coming unglued, I unholster my weapon and aim it at Kim. “Drop your weapon.”
Without moving the direction of her gun from its target, Kim’s stare swings to me. Her eyes are wild and crazed. “She killed her! She killed her! She and her stupid whore mother killed her! Dead! She’s dead.” She looks back at Becca.
She pulls the trigger.
My chest squeezing, I pull mine, and the shot hits Kim in the leg. She cries out and falls to her ass, but she doesn’t drop the weapon.
I move in closer. “Drop your weapon, Kim.”
Her eyes hit mine, but they’re tight with pain as her face pales. “She killed her,” she whispers, her breathing labored.
“Drop it.” I move in closer until I’m only a foot away. My breathing turns ragged, seeing as I haven’t heard a peep from the other side of the table when Becca went down.
Kim’s eyes droop, and her hand goes limp, the gun falling from her hand. Keeping my Glock trained on her, I move in and flip her with zero care. Kicking myself for not bringing my cuffs, not even zip ties, I put a knee to her back, set my gun on the table, and grab a cloth napkin.
A gurgled cough comes from the other side of the table, and my heart drops into my gut, making it roll, but I keep my head and secure Kim’s hands behind her. The blood from her wound pools around her, but I’ll see to her after Becca.
Maybe.
Grabbing my phone out of my pocket, I call in the shooting to dispatch and request an ambulance as I rush around the table and kneel in front of Becca. Hands shaking and heart beating a mile a minute, I grab a napkin and press it against the hole seeping blood and staining her green dress on the right side of her chest.
Screw It Page 22