He was a bad guy and he knew it, accepted it. Hell, she’d sensed it back then. That he might just end up controlling her like her father had done. And back then he’d been trying hard not to. So fucking hard.
But he wasn’t the good boy trying to do the right thing he’d once been. So why the fuck wouldn’t she just pull that trigger and put him out of his misery?
Being a bad guy sure gives you a lot of excuses to do fuck-all. Didn’t see Dust doing that, huh?
His jaw ached, his chest felt like it was full of knives.
Fucking Dust. That prick was always showing him up. And now the stupid fuck was setting an example, trying to do the right thing.
Jesus. He’d always sworn to himself he wasn’t going to do that again, was going to accept himself as he was, a bad man, just like his daddy had always told him. Because what was the point trying to be better when it never got you what you wanted?
But then…he didn’t have Nora. He’d told her she was strong. He’d told her she deserved everything. But here he was, treating her like she was made of fucking glass. Keeping the one thing from her he knew they both needed.
He just couldn’t let that stand.
Smith turned sharply from the window.
Being bad was easy. It was being good that was so goddamn fucking difficult. But he’d do it for her. Because in the end, he loved her, he always had.
He’d just been too stupid to realize it.
—
“Nora!”
Buried deep in some work, Nora jerked her head up as the door to the office she shared with Rhys and West banged open.
It was Rhys standing in the doorway, his habitual blank expression replaced with something that looked a hell of a lot like…amusement. Which was shocking enough in itself since she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Rhys amused.
“What?” She put the pen she’d been holding down. “Has the world ended or something?”
“Not quite. But you have a…” He glanced behind him, back out into the reception area, an almost-smile tugging at his mouth. “Visitor.”
She really didn’t need the interruption right now. Rush had given her the details of the Waco address where she’d apparently find Brook, and she’d just been checking out the lay of the land and trying to decide whether or not to rope in her colleagues for the trip.
Despite all that though, her heart gave a peculiar little leap. “What visitor?”
There were voices coming from the reception area, West saying something and Rose laughing. And then someone else unfamiliar saying something.
Her heart sank. Not Smith.
Rhys stood back from the door. “Go and see for yourself.”
Not in the mood for games, Nora was tempted to tell him to go to hell. But in the end she pushed her chair back, and got up, since why not. Getting Brook could wait five minutes. “This had better be good,” she muttered as she came to the doorway. “I’ve got a hell of a—”
The words died in her throat as she looked into the main reception area.
Sitting on one of the couches, his legs outstretched and his arms crossed across his broad chest, in his Graveyard Ministry cut, was Garrett Brook, aka Dust.
Nora blinked. “What the hell?”
West and Rose were over by the reception desk, standing there grinning.
“Hey,” Dust said and gave her a jerk of his chin in greeting.
Nora blinked again. “Like I said. What the hell?”
“What does it look like?” The expression on his face was belligerent. “I’m turning myself in.”
Nora didn’t know what to say. “But I thought…”
“This has got nothing to do with the prez,” Dust said flatly. “This is all on me. Club doesn’t need the heat so here I am.”
Jesus. This was the last thing in the world she’d expected.
The main office door suddenly opened and Duchess came in, a tall muscular man with golden brown hair and unusual, turquoise blue eyes sauntering along at her heels.
Both of them stopped dead as they spotted Dust sitting on the couch.
He stared back, the belligerent look on his face not fading one iota.
“Well,” Rush Redmond said with some amusement, glancing at Nora. “I thought I’d come to offer some help, but clearly you don’t need it.”
Duchess said nothing, staring at the man on the couch. A brief look of shock had crossed her face, but now it was gone, her lovely features smooth. “Mr. Brook,” she murmured. “Fancy meeting you here. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Like I said to her”—he jerked his head in Nora’s direction—“I’m giving myself up.”
Rush wandered over to where Dust sat, grinning. “Dust man, how’s it hanging? Long time no see, huh?”
Dust didn’t reply, but the look on his face was all fuck you.
Rush didn’t seem to notice, giving him a companionable slap on the shoulder anyway. “Always great to see you, bro, I agree.” He glanced at Nora. “You want me to help bring him in?”
But Nora shook her head, looking straight at Duchess. “I think someone else might want that honor.”
A slight smile turned Duchess’s mouth. Oh yeah, she wanted that honor all right, Nora could tell. Duchess was all about justice, especially when it came with a side order of personal.
But clearly the day wasn’t finished getting any weirder, because right then, like a damn stage comedy, the door opened again and Officer St. George strode in.
Rush’s eyes widened, then he grinned at her. “Hey, sweetheart, great timing. Coming to join the party?”
The cop, who looked like the stick jammed up her rear was giving her trouble, gave him a dubious glance. “Rush. What are you doing here?”
“Came to see Nora.” Rush’s grin widened. “And no, it’s not what you’re thinking. Sadly.”
Duchess sighed. “Can I help you, Officer?”
“I was told I had someone to pick up.” Her stern copper gaze shifted to where Dust sat. “That him?”
“Yeah,” Dust said. “It’s him.”
There was more cheerful banter from Rush, needling the cop as the paperwork was completed. Clearly they knew each other and clearly she found him annoying.
Half an hour later, Dust had disappeared into the tender care of the police, while everyone else had gone back to work, leaving Nora searching around for something to do since Dust’s sudden appearance had left her without a skip to pick up.
She was back at her desk, fiddling around with an Internet search that somehow had turned up results on art history degrees in Austin, when her phone buzzed on the desktop beside her keyboard.
And her heart just about stopped when she realized who it was from.
Smith.
I got some things I need to say. If you want to hear them, meet me at the art gallery at 5. If you don’t want to hear them, you don’t have to come. I’ll understand. Smith.
She stared at the screen until the words went fuzzy, her throat tight and her chest feeling like someone had wrapped their hands around it and was squeezing hard.
No, of course she shouldn’t go. Because what did she care that he had something to say to her? He hadn’t said anything the day before, back in her apartment, right when she’d needed him to, so what was the point of listening now?
Guess you know now what it must have felt like for him when you didn’t speak up eight years ago.
She swallowed.
Shit. That was a point, but still. She didn’t care. She really didn’t.
Oh, bullshit. You care. You care a lot. Just be honest with yourself for one goddamn minute.
Nora let out a breath and slowly tipped her head forward so it was resting on her keyboard. Her computer made an offended beeping sound, but she ignored it.
She didn’t want to be honest with herself. She didn’t want to care. And yet…pretending was hard. It was painful. It was pushing everything away and keeping her distance and somehow that was supposed to be b
etter than admitting what she wanted. Admitting that Smith had once been everything to her and he still was.
Admitting that she loved him and him walking away had cut her to the bone.
And now he wanted to see her and she was scared, so fucking scared. Because she didn’t think she could handle him walking away from her again.
The computer beeped again so she lifted her head and grabbed her phone, and before she could think twice, she texted him a reply. Give me one fucking reason.
The response seemed to take forever to come and she felt like she was being pulled tight, getting drawn thinner and thinner.
Then her phone buzzed again. How about because I love you?
Her whole body went still, the sounds of a typical day at the office fading. Everything fading but the words on her screen. The words she felt like she’d been longing for years now.
Her eyes were all prickly and she felt like crying, but fuck that, she was tough and she swallowed them back, hitting Call instead of Reply.
He answered immediately. “Don’t say a word,” he said in his rough, deep voice, all gravel and honey. “Meet me at five and don’t be late. I’ll tell you everything then. And yeah, I got a reason.”
Then the bastard ended the call.
She didn’t know how she got through the rest of the day. Quitting time seemed to take forever to arrive and when it did, she couldn’t get to the art gallery fast enough.
As she approached the entrance, one of the gallery staff, who was standing outside, gave her a glance. “Sorry, ma’am. The gallery is closed for the evening.”
Nora stopped in surprise. “What? But I’m supposed to meet someone here.”
The man gave her a more focused look. “Are you Nora Sutcliffe?”
“Yes. I am.”
He smiled and pushed open the door for her. “In that case, ma’am, please go on through.”
Her heartbeat sped up. “But…wait. You said it was closed.”
“For a private function.”
Okay, what the hell was Smith planning? “What private function?”
“Please, go on through, ma’am.”
Right, so she was going to get nothing out of this guy, obviously.
Taking a breath, Nora stepped through the doorway into the cool, echoing foyer.
There was no one around, which was kind of a weird experience since whenever she visited the gallery, it was always full of people. But the quiet was nice, she had to admit.
Her boots echoed as she took a couple of steps forward, looking around.
Ahead of her was a sign pointing the way to a new exhibition from an artist she’d always admired, one she’d been meaning to go and see but hadn’t gotten around to yet.
On the sign was a piece of paper. All it said was Nora.
Her throat went tight, stupid tears threatening.
She forced them back, walking down a few familiar corridors, following the signs toward the new exhibition, until she finally found herself in a large room hung with paintings, couches here and there for people to sit on and contemplate the art.
A man was standing in the middle, his hands in fists at his sides, staring at the doorway like a damned soul before the pearly gates, hoping for a glimpse of heaven.
Smith.
His eyes were so dark, intensity in every line of his face. And when she started toward him, he held up one hand, stopping her. “Wait,” he said.
She didn’t want to. She wanted to cross the distance between them, hurl herself into his arms, and it was almost a physical pain to hold back. “Why?”
“I told you.” He didn’t smile. “I got something to say.”
Her pulse beat heavily in her head, her blood rushing through her veins at the familiar gravel and velvet of his voice. It had only been a day or so since he’d walked out of her apartment, but somehow it felt like forever.
“Okay,” she said thickly and put her hands in her pockets to keep from reaching out to him.
The look in his eyes burned. “I hear Dust came to visit.”
“Yeah. He turned up this afternoon. Was that…anything to do with you?”
Smith didn’t look away. “No. He called me last night and told me that’s what he was gonna do. And you have to know, I tried to talk him out of it.”
Her throat felt thick and painful. “Oh.”
“I tried to talk him out of it, because I was a fucking dick,” Smith said flatly. “Because once Dust wasn’t between us, I had no excuse for being a tool.”
Despite everything, despite the fact that her eyes were full of liquid, she almost smiled. “That doesn’t sound like something you’d want at all.”
His mouth twitched. “No. It’s not. I mean, I’m generally the world’s biggest prick, but…” He stopped and let out a breath. “That’s an excuse I’ve been using for a long time. Ever since my dad left me in the ER. Because…well, it’s easier to accept you’re bad than to do things differently. Than to try, you know?”
She did know. Oh, how she knew. “You’re talking to the woman who tried for years to get something from her dad. So yeah, trying is hard. Especially when you don’t get anything back from it.”
Something in his face changed, a flame in the dark intensity of his eyes. “I know what you wanted, Nora. I know what you were hoping I’d say. And I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you. Fuck, you don’t know how sorry I am. But…I was angry. I’ve been letting what happened with us get to me and I swore I’d never pour my heart out to you like I did all those years ago….” He stopped. “I’m not good with this shit. I’m not good with talking about my feelings or, hell, even thinking about them. But, when Dust called me to let me know he was gonna give himself up, I thought about that. And I thought about you and what you deserve. What you can handle, because I’m a lot to handle.” He took a step toward her. “And I meant it when you said you deserve everything. And I meant it when I said you were strong. Strong enough to have every fucking thing, including me. Including love.” He took another step toward her and she found she was trembling. “I loved you the moment I saw you lying by the pool that day in Houston, in your little white bikini. Jesus, I don’t think I ever stopped. And I wanna give that to you. I wanna spend my life giving it to you. I wanna try being a good man for a change, because shit, Nora Sutcliffe. You’re the best woman I know. And now I can’t even turn Dust over to you as a big-ass gesture because he turned himself in. Prick.”
A tear escaped, rolling down her cheek, and she just let it. And it was she who crossed the distance between them, going straight up to him and reaching out, taking his face between her palms, his beard soft against her skin. “You stupid idiot,” she said thickly. “You don’t have to try to be a good man. You don’t have to prove anything to me. You not turning Dust in…that’s part of who you are. He’s your brother, and that matters to you. It means something. I don’t need your grand gesture to know you’re a good man. You always were. I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you if you weren’t.”
—
He didn’t deserve it, he knew that. Not her, standing right in front of him, her soft palms against his skin, telling him he was a good man and always had been while tears streamed down her face.
And he certainly didn’t deserve her telling him she loved him.
“You can’t,” he said roughly. “You can’t do that, golden girl.”
“Sure, I can. Just watch me.” She took her hands from his jaw and wrapped her arms around him, burying her head against his chest. And he found he couldn’t stop his arms from coming around her in return, holding her like he never wanted to let her go. Fuck, he didn’t want to let her go.
She’d told him to give her a reason to meet him at the gallery and it had taken him at least five seconds to man up, to send the text out into the ether, telling her he loved her. It had been easier than he thought. But standing in front of her? Letting all that emotional crap spill out of him? Ten thousand times harder.
But he’d done it. Because he
had to. Because she had to know how he felt.
Because he’d told her he wanted to try and he was going to. If it fucking killed him.
Actually, it might fucking kill him. The pain in his chest certainly felt like a goddamn heart attack.
He looked down at the top of her golden head. “You know I’m no good for you, baby. I blackmailed you. I—”
“No,” she interrupted, her head jerking up, her gaze meeting his. “Don’t say those things. Of course you’re good for me. You called me on all that crap I was telling myself about the dreams I had for college. How I let all of that die.”
“I hurt you.” Because he had, and right now, that’s all he’d felt like he’d done.
Nora lifted a hand to his face, her fingertips finding his lower lip, tracing along it like she couldn’t get enough of touching him. “Yeah, you did. But I kind of needed it. I forgot who I was, Smith. And you reminded me. Sure, it was hard and it was painful, but…I’m so glad you did. Because if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have this.”
He took a breath, his hunger for her roaring to life just the way it always did. “No, you’re right. We wouldn’t.”
She touched him again, another stroke of her fingers along his mouth. “So it was Dust who changed your mind, then?”
He nipped her fingertips gently, unable to help himself. “Yeah. Bastard’s always been hell on my conscience.”
She grinned, pulling her hand back just a little, teasing him. “Why the art gallery?”
“Because this is your place.” He looked down into her gold-dust eyes, the warmth of her seeping into him, deep into his bones. It felt familiar, that warmth. It felt like it had always been there, not gone, just waiting to come to life again. “Because I wanted to give you something.”
“Give me what?”
Though it took a shitload of willpower, he managed to let her go and stand back. “Choose a painting, golden girl.” He gestured around the room. “Any one you like. It’s yours.”
Her eyes widened and it was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen. “Why?”
Make It Hurt (Texas Bounty) Page 19