by Hype, Jenn
Shit. I killed someone.
I knew that. I didn't need him to tell me that. I'd shot the guy between the damn eyes. You didn't survive something like that.
Why was it just now hitting me?
Sure, I'd spent countless hours perfecting my form and honing my skills, but I'd never actually aimed a gun at a person and pulled the trigger. The bad guy who was trying to kill me had his weapon pointed at the man trying to save me, and my finger reflexively tugged back just enough to put the firing pin in motion. It happened on instinct, and so quickly. Being forced to locations unknown where I was questioned with bound hands hadn't really given me the opportunity to let it sink in exactly what happened at that house.
"Brooke!"
I didn't remember falling to the ground, or Grant entering the bathroom. Whether he scooped me up or I climbed into his lap was irrelevant. Yes, Grant was currently holding me captive...ish. Did that really matter, though, when his hard chest made me feel safe. Grounded. When his soothing words and gentle stroke of my hair were keeping the guilt from swallowing me whole?
It didn't have to make sense. Reasons and explanations had no place beyond the shield of protection Grant was gifting me. Focusing on his warm skin, his woodsy scent, his tight waist beneath my clutching fingers - those thoughts kept me from leaping right off the edge instead of teetering on it.
The irony of my captor being the one to make me feel safe and protected, if even from my own thoughts, was not lost on me. The bruises were already starting to form around the tender skin of my wrists. Bruises that were a direct result of Grant binding my wrists. The ache in my back from sitting in a shitty chair for hours while he toggled back and forth between leaving me totally alone and trying to intimidate information out of me.
Still, my injuries were minor compared to what they could have been. I wanted to pretend that I could have made it out of the house alone, that I didn't need Grant's help, but that was a damn lie. He saved my ass, and I saved his.
I saved his life by taking someone else's.
Dammit. How was I supposed to live with knowing I'd taken someone else's life into my own hands? And for what? To save Grant, who was as much of a stranger to me as the masked shooter. Yes, Grant had been helping me escape the shooter, but I had no way of knowing why or what would happen afterward.
Grant's lips pressed down on the crown of my head in between whispers of reassurance. Telling me to breathe, that I was safe. The guilt blanketing me didn't lift, instead growing heavier as more shame piled on with every gentle word he murmured in my ear. I'd done nothing to deserve his kindness, yet he hadn't hesitated to swoop in and give me a shoulder to cry on. Not that I was crying...yet. Thank God for small miracles. Trembling while he rocked me like a child was bad enough, but nothing would be harder for me to recover from than crying in front of anyone else. Especially Grant.
I don't know how long we sat there like that, his back up against the ceramic tub, me curled into the fetal position, but his grip on me didn't lessen even a fraction until my trembling subsided and my breathing returned to normal.
"I'll get your shower started." Grant's voice was hoarse, the soothing, gentle tone replaced by a deep, guttural sound that brought to mind the image of him naked, telling me how wet and tight I was while he moved over me. My fingernails dug a little deeper into his back, a reflex as my heart sped back up and jump started my clit, sparking to life a desire so fierce it was alarming.
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't... I don't... thank you," I finally got out as I scrambled to my feet, my body instantly cold and missing the warmth of his powerful arms cradling me. The urge to run right back into those arms had alarms sounding in my head, warning me not to give in to the pathetically desperate need to just be held. To let someone else make the decisions for me, to shoulder some of the weight I carried around on a daily basis.
Stupid.
I was being stupid to entertain such ridiculous fantasies. And with a man I couldn't stand minutes ago. Just because he comforted me, held me together when I fell apart out of nowhere, didn't mean he was good for me. Or that he'd even want to be anything to me. Chances were good that I'd end up thrown outside on my ass soon enough, once they realized I was no one important. Held nothing valuable to them. They - Grant and his friends - had no reason at all to help me. They'd already put their lives in danger once, why would they willingly do it again?
Grant and his friends could have been allies if you hadn't acted like a grade-A bitch right off the bat.
If I could punch my own subconscious in the face, I would totally do it. I hated when my personality split in two and I started arguing with myself. Nothing will make you feel crazier than arguing with your own damn self.
Part of me really wanted to question him, ask him why he came to my aid. That part of me was also an idiot, because a sliver of hope sparked to life at the possibility of him comforting me because it was me, and not just because rescuing damsels in distress is his day job.
The sane, stubborn and self-efficient side of me wanted to punch him in the face for stepping in without being asked. I didn't need to be rescued. Yeah, I had a moment there where I felt bad for killing a guy. Big deal. I'd find a way to get over it and move on, and it wouldn't be because some moody jerk with a hero complex stepped in and saved the day.
With my head back on straight and the emotional fog clearing, I was able to resurrect that wall I kept up at all times. A wall I'd thought was better constructed than apparently it was, seeing as how it crumbled like that dumbass little pig who built his house of straw. Screw that. This wall was going to be impenetrable. My mom was still missing, and I was still being held against my will, so it was time to get my shit together.
Time was an unforgiving bitch, and every second I wasted not focusing on my goal was a second I could never get back. What I needed to do was find a way to get Grant to confess what the hell kind of operation was going on here. I'd been biding my time, trying to gather information through observation, but that obviously wasn't getting me anywhere.
Grant was leaning down to get a towel from under the cabinet after he turned on the shower, adjusting it to the right temperature, and what I needed right then was to regain the upper hand. He'd witnessed a rare glimpse of my weakness, and I needed to make sure he knew it wouldn't be happening again.
Chapter Eight
Temptation In A Towel
Grant
"What the hell are you doing?"
I hadn't meant to shout at her, especially since just a few minutes ago she'd been a sobbing mess in my arms, but when I turned around to tell Brooke I'd give her a minute to get in the shower, she was already tearing at her clothes.
"What does it look like? I can't take a shower with my clothes on."
Her shorts were already pooled on the floor, but I refused to look anywhere but at her face. If what she had on underneath those shorts was even half as tempting as that bra she'd been wearing all night - or worse, if she wore nothing - the self-control already starting to slip would fall away entirely, joining her pile of clothes on the floor.
The suggestive look she gave me was intentional, that much was easy to tell, but the dilating pupils and quickening of her breaths gave her away. She might have been messing with me, but she was enjoying doing it.
Why? Was this just another manipulation? If I caved and made a move towards her, would she reject me?
I scoffed inwardly. Of course. She was trying to regain control of the situation. It was a cheap tactic, using her body, but I wasn't going to give in. I also wasn't going to call her out on it. Not after seeing her fall apart. I had no doubts that she didn't do that often, and her challenging me was most likely a defense mechanism. She didn't want me to see her as weak, and testing me was her way of regaining that lost confidence.
Whatever I did right in this moment could work in my favor or completely destroy my chances of getting any more information out of her. I didn't trust her, not even a little. It was clear to anyone wh
o spent three minutes with Brooke that she took great pleasure in playing games. Too tired and too old for that kind of bullshit, giving Brooke any amount of my trust would be the biggest fucking mistake.
Didn't change the fact that if I thought for one second Brooke would let me cover her mouth with mine, would moan in pleasure as my hands explored her body, then I would be on her without a moment's hesitation. I didn't need to trust her, or even like her, to enjoy sinking myself inside her wet heat. Spontaneous and reckless sex had never been a weakness of mine, and while I didn't do relationships, I also didn't make it a habit of hooking up with random women for casual, meaningless sex.
That had to be it. Not days, not weeks, but months had gone by since I'd last been with a woman. It had nothing to do with the one standing in front of me. I just needed to find release and then I'd be fully immune to her.
Her pert ass disappearing behind the shower curtain did nothing for me. Not a damn thing.
Except flood my cock with every ounce of blood in my body, making it pulse hard enough to almost bust through the zipper of my pants.
Never having been in the bathroom while someone else was showering, I didn't realize that the thin, clear plastic didn't do much in the way of shielding the person behind it. I couldn't make out the details of her body, but the outline of her form was enough to be considered a unique form of torture. Of course, standing there and staring wasn't a requirement. I could always just look away, turn around, do something else. I could do those things. I didn't, though.
Instead I stood there, enduring the sweet torment, memorizing the curve of her breasts, big enough to fill my palms. The narrowing of her torso above slightly curved hips that rested just above her firm thighs. Thighs that held forbidden pleasures between them.
Did she know I was looking? Did she want me to look? Did I want her to want me to look?
The fuck? I was going nuts.
I cleared my throat, partially to break the silence, but also to make sure my voice wouldn't be hoarse with the desire I was battling when I spoke.
"So this Jerry Knowles - did he tell you anything else?"
"No." She sounded hesitant and for a second I didn't think she would elaborate. "It was all very odd, to tell you the truth, but he was kind of odd anyway. He gave me the paper with the address and said if I ever found my life truly in danger, to go there. No other explanation." I'd half expected her to keep refusing to answer my questions like before, so if she was going to start sharing, I was going to take full advantage. And the distraction was a plus.
Her head peeked from behind the curtain, a coy smile tilting her lush, pink lips.
"No fair. You can't question me when I have water dripping down my soapy, naked body. You're taking advantage of my vulnerable state."
Oh, so that's how it was going to be?
"If you need help with any hard to reach places, let me know. I'm happy to help."
I'd made my way closer to the shower, and judging by the sound of the soap falling, I'd guess she hadn't expected my response, nor my proximity.
My advantage was quickly handed right back over when she pulled the far end of the curtain back, leaving an opening big enough for a person to slip through.
"Hop on in. I'll even let you help with the not so hard to reach places."
Well, shit.
It was a game, I knew that. To remain outside of the shower would be equivalent to letting her win in a game of chicken. Was I competitive and stubborn enough to call her bluff? Conceding this round was the smart, responsible, mature thing to do. Refusing to be sucked in, not rising to take the bait was not the same thing as 'losing.' I knew that, dammit.
So why was I reaching for the hem of my shirt?
A knock on the door stopped me from making a colossal mistake. Thank fuck.
"Next time, sweet cheeks. Duty calls." Once just outside the door, my conflicted emotions got the best of me. "What?!"
"Awww. Is the tiny woman still giving you a hard time? Do you need me to babysit for a while? I wouldn't have hesitated to take her up on that offer to join her. If you're gonna pass up the chance to tap that, at least let someone else have a shot."
"Fuck you, Nick. What do you want?"
His laugh was the last thing my dick wanted to hear, which thankfully, made my erection disappear at record speeds.
"Dude, you need to rub one out or just fuck her and get it out of your system. I haven't seen you this worked up since the time you picked up a chick at the bar who turned out to be a dude."
And with that visual reminder of one of the most traumatic nights of my life, all the blood fled from my dick. As a matter of fact, I think it might have actually tried to burrow inside itself like a turtle hiding in it's shell.
"You have two seconds to get to the point before I unpretty that face you rely on so much."
"Okay, okay, jeez. You've been...busy with Brooke, so we haven't really had a chance to let you know what happened at the house after you left. Two of the men were killed, one by your girl in there. We had the others about ready to throw their weapons down when another shooter came out of fucking nowhere. Narrowly missed Alice, but she had to dive to the ground, which is how she wound up with a bunch of glass in her back. Like a bunch of dumbasses, we all three ran to her aid."
"Bet Alice told you guys to do your fucking jobs and quit babying her."
"Heh. That's what she said, almost verbatim," Nick grunted. "Anyway, by the time we got our shit together, the three assailants had already dragged the two dead guys into a van and were hightailing it out of there."
"Fuck."
"I know. Wish we could have got at least one of them for questioning or been able to get an identity from one of the bodies. Smart fuckers, taking the bodies with them."
I almost laid into him for screwing up, but guilt flashed across his face, and I knew it would just be redundant to whatever shit he'd already been giving himself.
"Anyway, we searched the grounds for anything that might have been left behind. Only found one thing, and it's pretty fucking huge."
"Spit it out, Nick," I barked when I heard the shower shut off. Until I knew Brooke could be trusted, I didn't want her overhearing anything.
"Fine. Shit." He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a silver chain.
"Hey Grant. Do you have any clothes I can wear, or did you plan to keep me naked the next time you tied me up?"
Brooke's voice, about ten decimals louder than necessary considering the door was open and she was a maximum of three feet away from me, stopped Nick's arm mid-air. Before he could add to her inappropriate - and incredibly enticing - suggestion, I shoved him hard. He fell back a few steps but regained his balance quickly, saluting me as he disappeared around the corner.
I sensed her before I felt her, the heat from her body, the soft press of her chest against my back springing my dick back to life. My feet stayed glued in place, my jaw clenching to the point of pain as I fought to not throw myself across the room, needing to put space between us. My eyes closed and my fists clenched as I fought to not spin around and pull her body flush with mine so I could bury my nose in her damp hair, inhale her fresh strawberry scent and worship her neck with my mouth.
Goddamn, she smelled good.
Pivoting slowly on my heel, I waited until I was facing her before taking a cautioned step back. If, in her mind, I'd made the right or wrong decision, I couldn't be sure. Her face remained impassive, giving nothing away.
My eyes didn't spend much time taking in her face, though. Why would they when the rest of her was wrapped in a towel that left very little to the imagination? Wrapped around her frame and tucked in just below her left arm, the fabric splitting across her right thigh. The scrap of cotton covered just enough to make a man insane, and with my sanity already trying to jump ship, it took a strength I hadn't even known I possessed to keep from pushing her up against the wall and yanking that excuse of a towel off her body, devouring-
"Ahem. When you're don
e trying to summon Superman's x-ray powers so you can see through the towel, would you mind finding me something to sleep in?"
Unbidden images of Brooke in a bed, wearing nothing but my shirt - or nothing at all - flooded my imagination. Her long, chestnut hair splayed out across my pillow, her soft, pliant body beneath mine. Lips parted, eyes rolled back, my name rolling off her tongue as she cried out in ecstasy.
Brooke clearing her throat again pulled me out of my lust-induced haze. "Clothes?"
Cursing under my breath, I walked across the hall into the space we'd turned into a bedroom. Too many nights to count one - or all - of us would be here overnight, and sleeping on the futon and pull out beds just weren't cutting it, so we converted an office into a small bedroom. We also all kept a bag of extra clothes and overnight items in a closet just in case.
Alice had at least a good six inches on Brooke, but her clothes would probably still fit, and I knew she wouldn't mind me giving Brooke something of hers to wear. So why did I reach into my own bag instead and pull out a thin, cotton undershirt?
Because you're a masochist and want the image of Brooke in your clothes burned into your brain to use as self-inflicted torture.
"Is this where we're sleeping?"
"Yes. You will sleep on the bed with your wrist cuffed to the headboard. I'll take the floor in front of the door so I can make sure you don't try anything stupid during the night."
An emotion I couldn't place flickered in her eyes. Hurt? Pain of some sort? Before I could figure it out, it was gone, and her teasing smile was back in place. I was quickly learning that the smile she wore almost non stop was her mask. Others schooled their faces, made themselves look impassive or uninterested. Some wore a scowl, their mouths screwed into a tight frown, warding off anyone who might even consider probing with personal questions.
Brooke... Brooke had this confidence about her that on anyone else would have made them look like a stuck up bitch. Now that I knew the reason for it, all I could see were the emotions she was trying to hide behind the false bravado. Whatever secrets she was keeping, whatever had caused her to adapt the flippant attitude that kept everyone at arm's length, it had me wanting to hold her again.