Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals)

by Jackie Ashenden

  She stopped dead, as if that sliver of glass had finally reached her heart.

  Levi looked the same. Exactly the same. Still shockingly handsome with the strong line of his jaw, now rough with deep gold stubble, and high, sculpted cheekbones. Straight nose and long, deeply sensual mouth. Silver blue eyes that . . .

  Her breath caught, glass cutting straight through her heart and out the other side.

  No. She was wrong. He didn’t look the same. Not at all. There were lines around his mouth and eyes, lines that hadn’t been there before, and that wasn’t due to age. That was something more. There was a ring piercing one straight, dark eyebrow, and beneath that it looked like his eye had turned completely black, his pupil huge, a thin ring of silver-blue circling it.

  She couldn’t stop looking, couldn’t stop staring, the shock of seeing him hitting her like a wrecking ball. And then there were more shocks, more blows, as the differences in him began to filter through her consciousness.

  The piercing. That one dark eye. The width of his shoulders and the way his T-shirt molded over a chest and stomach ridged with hard muscle. And his arms . . . Jesus, his tattoos. Around each powerful arm was a series of black bands, each one decreasing in width until the bands around his wrists were merely black lines. They were simple, beautiful, highlighting the strength of biceps, forearms, and wrists, and the deep, dark gold of his skin.

  When the hell had he gotten those? Levi had never wanted tattoos, no matter how much she’d told him they’d suit him. She’d even teased him about being afraid of the pain, though she knew that wasn’t the reason. Levi hadn’t wanted the tattoos because he hadn’t wanted anything to get in the way of his dreams of escape.

  Escape from their shitty Royal Road neighborhood. Escape from Detroit.

  He’d planned to get money enough to leave, get a good job in a high-flying company. Have an apartment that didn’t have dealers lurking on the stairs and drunks on the sidewalk out front. Build a life that was about more than mere subsistence and struggle. A life that didn’t include tattoos.

  Looked like he didn’t give a shit about that now.

  You can’t get a high-flying job with tattoos on your arms. You can’t get one with a record, either.

  The acid in her gut roiled and she had no idea what to say.

  Levi didn’t break the heavy, impossible silence and he didn’t smile. He just stared at her as if she were an insect he’d found crushed under the heel of his boot.

  Say something, you idiot.

  But her voice seemed to have deserted her entirely. All she could do was stare back at him, this man who’d once been her best friend. Whose dreams used to help her believe that there was more to life than existing on her grandma’s Social Security checks and hiding from the child protection agencies that wanted to take her away and put her in a foster home. More to hope for than a crummy job in the local diner or behind the counter at the 7-Eleven.

  But that friend had once been Levi Rush.

  She didn’t know who this man was, with his pierced eyebrow, tattoos, and aura of leashed violence and menace. A man like all the other thugs that seemed to infest Royal Road.

  And then as suddenly as he’d swung around to stare at her, the quality of his strangely asymmetrical stare changed. Became focused, intensifying on her the way a sniper locks onto a target.

  It was unnerving. Frightening. And Levi had never frightened her before.

  He looked even less like her friend than ever before. More like a general about to conquer a city. With her being the city.

  Her protective mechanisms, ones she’d built up over a lifetime of being on her own, kicked in with a vengeance and she’d lifted her chin almost before she’d had a chance to think about whether being prickly really was the best way to handle this.

  Eight years ago she would have launched herself into his arms for a hug.

  But it wasn’t eight years ago. It was now. And she’d made so many mistakes already, what was one more?

  “Hey, Levi,” she said, her voice sounding pathetic and scratchy in the echoing space of the garage. “Long time no see.”

  * * *

  Levi had waited a long time for this moment. Eight years to be exact. And it was happening just as he’d predicted.

  He’d thought she’d stand there with her chin lifted, that guarded, fuck-you expression on her lovely face. Staring at him like he was a stranger, holding him at a distance the way she did with people she didn’t know and didn’t trust.

  And sure enough, she was.

  But even though he’d braced himself, the sight of her again after all these years emptied his lungs and killed his voice anyway.

  He should have known. She’d always had that effect on him, even right back when she’d been fifteen and still in school, and he’d been eighteen and feeling like a dirty pervert for wanting her so badly. Even when she’d been his best friend, the person he was closest to and being near her had been such goddamn torture.

  But now he wasn’t her friend any longer and he’d spent almost a decade in jail.

  Maybe that was why he felt like he’d been hit over the head with an iron bar. He was just deprived of female company.

  But no, it wasn’t that. Because on the drive back from St. Louis to Detroit with Gideon there had been plenty of women all over the goddamn place. And then there had been the warm hug Zoe had given him, yet none of that had inspired this kind of feeling in him. Only Rachel did. Only Rachel ever had.

  She stood there now, not far away from him, with her long hair loose down her back and dyed a brilliant, electric blue. She wore a tiny, tight-fitting tank top that plastered over her full breasts like plastic wrap, a little black denim miniskirt that barely grazed the tops of her thighs, fishnet tights, and black platform boots that made her long legs look even longer.

  Jesus, she was so beautiful. Snow White, he’d once thought, back when he’d been that dumb fucking teenager and in love with her. Back when her hair had been black and her dark eyes had looked at him with warmth and trust and friendship.

  No warmth in those dark eyes now though. Or sweetness in that full, sulky mouth of hers. Her lovely face was hard, her expression as tightly closed as the door to the cell that had been his home for so long.

  Anger, the simmering rage that had become so much a part of the fabric of his life that he almost didn’t notice it anymore, tightened inside him.

  He ignored it. There was plenty of time for that. Plenty of time for everything now.

  Levi almost smiled. Because that expression on her face wasn’t going to last long if he had anything to do with it. And he was most certainly going to have something to do with it.

  After eight years inside he had some justice to claim.

  And he was going to claim it from her.

  Levi straightened and folded his arms. Stared at her. He could feel his dick begin to get hard, reacting to all the honey-colored skin revealed by her fishnet tights and the luscious curve of her breasts beneath her tank top. But he’d had a long time to learn how to control his bodily responses and so he controlled them now. Effortlessly.

  Something in her gaze flickered briefly, but he knew what it was. He’d become very adept at looking for fear in people and he could see it in her right now.

  She was afraid of him and it didn’t cause him any regret at all. Because she should be.

  Rachel shifted on her feet, betraying her nervousness, which was hugely satisfying. “So, not even a hello?” Her husky, sexy voice was edged with a familiar sarcasm, yet even so, he heard the fear running underneath it like a cold current in a hot spring.

  Satisfaction turned over inside him, settling right down in his gut like a sleepy animal.

  Nervous and afraid. Just the way he wanted her.

  Slowly, he began to walk toward her.

  Rachel’s eyes widened, but she held her ground.

  He didn’t stop.

  And when it became clear that he wasn’t going to, her eyes widene
d even further, a momentary flare of fear lighting up the darkness in them. She took a couple of steps back.

  He didn’t stop, moving inexorably forward.

  She cursed and began to back up faster, stumbling a little as his longer stride brought him closer, until she was walking backward quickly, her breathing getting faster. “Levi, what the fuck are you—” Her words were cut off as she backed straight into the door to the garage.

  And he kept coming, closer and closer, right up to her, putting out his hands at the last minute and placing them with great care on either side of her head, caging her against the door with his body.

  She shrank back against the metal, obviously trying to pull away from him, but there was nowhere for her to go.

  And this time, he did smile.

  Because finally she was exactly where he’d pictured her for so many lonely fucking years. So many angry fucking years.

  At his mercy.

  “Hello, Rachel,” he said softly, clearly.

  She stared back at him for a second, the fear large and black in those wide, dark eyes. Then the actual fact of her nearness began to penetrate his consciousness.

  They weren’t touching, but he could feel her heat, smell the scent of her skin—sweet, like she was something good to eat and yet not too sweet. Vanilla maybe or some kind of flower smell; he wasn’t sure which. He didn’t remember her smelling like that before, but underneath that there was a slight hint of feminine musk that was all Rachel, so achingly familiar.

  Someone behind him was shouting at him, but he ignored it, as desire, want, need rose up inside him, hungry and raw, desperate to claim her. Because she was so close, so fucking close, and it had been so fucking long, and he’d promised himself . . .

  But right at that moment the fear vanished from her eyes like a light turning off and anger flared instead. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Her hands came up and she shoved at his chest. “Get the fuck away from me!”

  She was surprisingly strong, but he’d had eight years of resisting people who’d tried to push him in various ways and if he didn’t want to be pushed, he wouldn’t be. Then again, he’d made his point, so he let her shove him back a couple of steps, putting some distance between them.

  He heard his name being called again—probably Gideon getting pissed with him—but again he ignored it, his focus entirely on the woman in front of him.

  Her cheeks had an angry flush to them, her chest rising and falling fast in time with her breathing. Anger glittered in her eyes and filled the space between them, tight, hot and dense as a neutron star.

  Then she stepped forward and this time it was her turn to get right up close, to get in his face the way he’d gotten into hers. “What kind of hello is that, Levi?”

  As if she was the one who was justified in getting angry. As if she had the right to demand things from him.

  His own anger, already simmering away, boiled over.

  He reached for her again, sliding his arm around her waist and hauling her against him, eight years of rage dying to be let loose. He had so much he wanted to say to her, and yet, when it came down to it, only one thing mattered.

  She had to pay. She had to pay for what she’d done to him.

  Their gazes clashed, both of them furious. Her hands were flat against the plane of his chest, pushing at him hard, her body rigid. Yet despite all that, she felt so good against him. Warm and soft, everything a woman should be....

  “Hey!” Gideon shouted from behind him. “What the fuck is going on? Let her go, Levi.”

  Yeah, Jesus. Get a hold of yourself. This is not the way it’s supposed to go.

  Fuck. His control was usually way better than this. He had to stick with the plan, not let her make him crazy like she always used to, damn her.

  He gave a low, slightly feral-sounding laugh and released her, raising his hands in surrender and stepping back. “Nothing’s going on. Just saying hi.”

  Rachel’s chin was lifted, fury gleaming in her eyes. Her arms were at her sides, hands curled into fists like she was ready to throw a punch. Spots of color glowed on her cheeks and she was looking at him like he was the devil himself.

  Fair enough. As far as she was concerned, he was.

  Gideon had come up beside them, giving Rachel a look before glancing back at Levi. “I don’t want this shit in my garage, I already told you that. I know you two have issues, but—”

  “Issues?” Levi interrupted, unable to help himself. “What issues? Oh, right, you mean the fact that she never visited me in the whole eight years I was inside? Not once? Or even how she fucked off when it was time to deliver her statement to the police and—”

  “Enough.”

  It had been a long time since Levi had obeyed anyone who wasn’t a guard, and he wasn’t about to start now, especially since he was free. But years of respect and trust had ensured Gideon a certain amount of loyalty so Levi made himself stop and shut the fuck up. Probably a good thing anyway since clearly he needed to get himself back under control again.

  Rachel had said nothing, but as he watched, he could see a fine tremble shaking her, almost imperceptible, like a subtle earthquake.

  Anger. Definitely anger.

  Gideon looked at her. “You okay?”

  Levi fought down the instinctive burst of irritation that went through him. Christ, as if he’d ever hurt her. Put the fear of God into her, sure, and maybe scare her. Make her suffer in a very specific way, definitely. But no, he’d never hurt her and Gideon should know that.

  Then again, Gideon knew how angry Levi was. How Levi used to ask him where Rachel was every time Gideon came to visit. And how bitter the answer “she decided not to come” was, especially when Zee and Zoe had also made the effort.

  But not Rachel. Never Rachel.

  She would pay for that, too.

  Rachel gave a stiff nod, glancing away from him at last. One hand lifted to rub her arm, a familiar, nervous gesture from years ago.

  He found his gaze following the movement of her fingers, noticing for the first time her tattoos, a full-length sleeve of deep red roses and other flowers amid dark leaves spilling down over her skin. The drooping head of a rose hung over her shoulder, too, scattering a fall of red petals like drops of blood over her chest.

  It was a beautiful design. Beautiful work. And familiar. She’d used to draw stuff like that in the notebooks she constantly lugged around with her. Was it one of her own designs?

  Gideon cursed under his breath. “Look, I get that this is difficult. But if you two can’t be in the same room without wanting to kill each other, maybe it would be better if Rachel went home.”

  “It’s fine, Gideon,” Levi said.

  “Is it?” The other man’s dark eyes were sharp. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t look fine to me.”

  Levi crushed his anger flat. Made himself hard and cold, the way he’d been for the past eight years. The only way he’d managed to survive. “I appreciate you coming for me, Gideon. I appreciate everything you’ve offered me since I got back. But what’s between Rachel and me is none of your fucking business.”

  “What’s between us?” Rachel’s voice was hoarse and a little thick. “There’s nothing between us. Nothing at all.”

  Levi shifted his gaze back to her. He didn’t speak, just held her dark eyes with his, because they both knew exactly how much bullshit that was.

  Her mouth set in a hard line, and he remembered that, her stubborn will. Like him, she hated backing down. On anything.

  Well, this week she would. He’d make her.

  Gideon sighed. “Okay, fine. Rip each other to shreds, see if I care. But don’t do it here, okay? Blood is very difficult to get out of concrete.”

  Rachel said nothing, staring at Levi for one angry second.

  Then abruptly she turned on her heel and strode out of the garage.

  Oh, shit no. She wasn’t leaving that easily, not when he hadn’t said what he wanted to say.

  Levi steppe
d forward after her, only to find one of Gideon’s large, powerful hands gripping his shoulder, stopping him.

  “Levi,” Gideon said in a low voice. “Let her go.”

  He stiffened.

  No. This is Gideon, remember? Not Mace or any of his hench-assholes. Or one of the guards. So maybe relax and not break his fucking arm.

  Levi let out a long, silent breath, making his muscles loosen. Then he glanced at his friend.

  In the car on the long drive from the Central Michigan Correctional Facility in St. Louis back to Detroit, Gideon hadn’t mentioned Rachel, keeping the conversation firmly about what was happening with Zoe and Zee, and the garage. Filling him in on how Zee had been revealed as big, bad Joshua Chase’s long-lost son and his engagement to the daughter of one of Detroit’s most wealthy families. And then telling him that Levi had a job he could come back to and could crash on Gideon’s sofa until he found himself a place to live.

  It was all typical Gideon, generous to a fault. But the guy was operating on the assumption that Levi was the same man who’d gone to prison on manslaughter charges eight years earlier.

  And he wasn’t.

  The Levi who’d gone into prison was a boy compared to the man he was now. A much harder man. A man who knew what he wanted and had put in place meticulous plans on how to get it.

  After all, he’d had a lot of time to think about it.

  Levi smiled at his friend and gently pulled Gideon’s hand off his shoulder.

  Then he strode straight out the door after Rachel.

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  Jackie Ashenden lives in Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, the inimitable Dr. Jax, two kids, and two cats. When she’s not torturing alpha males and their stroppy heroines, she can be found drinking chocolate martinis, reading anything she can lay her hands on, posting random crap on her blog, or being forced to go mountain biking with her husband. Jackie also writes the dark, sexy contemporary Nine Circles romance series for St. Martin’s Press. Visit her at jackieashenden.com.