She spun me around and grabbed the apricot soap, filling her palm with a puddle of light orange soap. She met my eyes a second before she set to washing my half-masted cock.
My tongue wanted to say something stupid. I love you, came to mind, but that was ridiculous. Although I wondered if I hid the emotions well when her own eyes blazed back at me.
She reached up on her tippy toes and kissed the scar on my throat. My eyes slid closed in misery. In need. Need for her to be … mine.
Her lips kissed the entire scar, right over my pulse, and then down to my chest. Her tongue twirled in my chest hair, and her hands on my cock revived me. It was even harder than the first time. “This one’s for me,” she whispered, stroking my cock as she kissed across my chest. “We can keep this safe, Brando. This thing between us. I’ll take care of you, and you take care of me, whatever way that may be.” She gripped my cock, pumping me to the edge of her blade. “It doesn’t have to blow up in our faces if we’re safe.”
I came a second time looking right into her eyes, throwing myself across her blade. Her willing victim. My pulse banged wildly in my ears. Every ounce of pleasure my body was capable of feeling throbbed in my cock where she gripped me.
“Deal?” she checked, reaching on her toes for my lips.
I leaned down and gave them to her, kissing her so hard I felt her fingers dig into my waist. “Deal.”
She washed me and then stepped aside for me to exit. I reached for the soap bottle, wanting to wash her, but she shook her head. “Not a good idea right now. Your fingers won’t be enough. I’ll hurt you. I don’t ever want to hurt you, Brando. Go, please.”
I gave her what she wanted, making a note to pay her back later. With my tongue. Prove my fingers could spin their own kind of magic. I stepped out of the shower, my brain fogged and my body weak. I took my clothes and my towel with me to her bedroom, finding the urine stain cleaned up and the bed made.
She made her bed? I found the idea strangely cute. I could picture her tucking the corners and fluffing the pillows. As it was, it looked delectable. Exhausted, I sagged on top of the duvet and pulled one of the pillows out and shoved it under my head. I heard Cat come in at one point and then my mind faded into a quiet blissful sleep.
It was the first time in weeks where I didn’t wake up in my own blood. The sheer black curtains over her window didn’t show daylight when I came too. The room was dark and there was something unbearably hot near my legs. When I moved my foot, I heard Trixie’s collar jingle, her quiet grumble of disapproval, and then her little body got comfortable again.
I was still naked in my towel, my clothes on the foot of the bed where I left them. The pain in my body flared to unmanageable. That must’ve been what woke me. I struggled to a sitting position and breathed evenly, trying to acclimate myself to my surroundings and let the pain settle. It didn’t settle. It got worse. I looked around for my bag, but it wasn’t in the bedroom like my duffle bags. I put on a pair of my boxers and then fumbled into the hall, pausing to breathe through my nose.
There were voices in the living room. Two females, one male. Klay and the girls. I didn’t realize how much I didn’t want to be here until I heard a familiar voice heading my way.
Madison turned the corner and stopped when she saw me. Her eyes scanned my chest, the garish wounds, the tattoos, the everything I was now, or had always been, and then she did something amazing. She smiled.
“Cat told me everything. I’m so happy you’re staying here.”
I stared, mute. I’d been expecting horror. Not acceptance. “Thank you.”
“I already talked to Klay,” she continued. “Cat too. He’s … okay … with it.” She cringed, but the fact that she’d tried to lie for my sake made me smile.
Living around a happy ending every day might do me some good. “He is, huh?”
Her head bobbed and her brows scrunched together. She picked up on my teasing, and she didn’t like it. “There’s takeout in the kitchen. Thai. Klay hates Thai, so Cat likes to order it a lot.” She shrugged. “Do you need anything?”
I smirked and then let it fade to a small smile. “It feels good to see you happy, Madison.”
She bit her lip and looked down at her bare toes, painted a pale shade of pink. “It feels good to be happy. I still have my days though.”
I wondered if Cat’s panic attack in the hotel the night before was Cat’s version of still having her days. Cat didn’t tell her about the Campus Slayer. About the fifteen bodies. It was only a matter of time before Madison learned the news. I made a note to contact Ethan to see if he’d be coming to Portland. It made sense that he’d want to talk to Madison—he didn’t have the attachment the way I did. He didn’t see how frail her progress was.
“I do need something, if you don’t mind?”
“Sure, anything.” She looked much happier with the subject change.
“My black bag that has my painkillers are still in the living room. Can you bring it to me?”
“Of course.” She turned back down the hall, and I sagged against the wall.
Madison didn’t come back with my bag, Cat did, along with a bottle of ice-cold water. The condensation pooling on the outside made me realize how painfully dry my mouth was, and how empty my stomach was as well.
“Come,” she said, heading into her room. “Sit,” she ordered.
I wasn’t sure giving in to her orders was a good thing for our relationship, but I promised in the shower to keep this thing between us safe. I sat. She dug out two pills and handed them to me with the water. I tossed them back and then chugged the water.
“I need to talk to Klay.”
She was wearing a pair of black sweats with Guns & Ink down the left thigh in gray script and a white tank top, no bra. Hell. Her tits were perfect. I wanted them in my mouth. My cock between them. She’d broken down my unease in that shower. I could do whatever I wanted to her now. It was a strange relief.
“Klay’s okay with it. I had to promise him a few things, of course. Like you’re splitting rent with us four ways. That’ll give Klay an extra couple hundred in his pocket. Huge perk in your favor. And you can’t be a cop around him.”
“I’m not a cop anymore.” I had my credentials, I could put in at the station here in Portland, but that would mean starting over, that would mean more bodies.
“Yeah, but you’re still cop-like. The way you look around when you’re in a new place, the way you appraise people, the way you approach a situation, you’re still a cop, Brando. And you’re a good one. I don’t think it’s something you should give up.”
I didn’t want to go there now. Pep-talks were for people who knew what they wanted out of life. I wasn’t confused. I was lost.
“Here. Put these on and come out to hang.”
I caught the clothes she tossed at me and sighed. “I don’t want to hang out.” I struggled into my jogging pants and maneuvered into a plain white t-shirt.
She stood before me and put her hands on my shoulders, looking down at me with a strange knowing tenderness. It felt like she was inside of my heart and brain, pulling out the pieces she wanted and trying to understand the pieces that weren’t whole. She was drenched in blood but didn’t mind; she’d keep searching for the magic until she found it.
“What do you want to do?” she asked.
You, I thought helplessly. But I said, “nothing,” because that was still true.
“How about I go and get you some food and some beer and we can hang out in here.”
I closed my eyes in relief. I spoke with them closed. “That sounds perfect, Cat.”
“Perfect?” She giggled softly. “A girl can get used to those standards.” She gave my shoulders a pat and then left me, returning with a takeout container and four beers.
The TV on her dresser turned on and we settled in her bed. We lay and watch a movie, ate crappy Thai food, and drank ice-cold beer. The entire time I didn’t think. I didn’t do anything but eat and watch. It gave m
y mind and heart a chance to breathe.
Portland would be good for me.
Because Cat was there.
My safe, however, sat in the corner of the room, and it was far more noticeable than it had ever been before.
Chapter Ten
Catherine
I loved sleeping with a man.
The dance of limbs and warm breath. The hair on his legs brushing against my smooth skin. The trust I toyed with letting my guard down enough to sleep. When I first started sleeping with men again after my attack, it always felt like I was playing with fire. Would this man be the next one to hurt me? As it was, they only hurt me emotionally. And I soon learned it wasn’t good for me to live in fear constantly. It turned my anxiety over on itself, it changed the way I saw things, and when I couldn’t see things the correct way, my attacker won a little more.
I refused to let that fucker win. I forged through. Trusted someone a little more. Gave men the power to hurt me, because there was power in trust.
There was power in me.
But waking up with Brando felt different. Like I’d fallen into a trap and didn’t know it yet, comfortable in my cage. To shake off the feeling—or to defy it—I nestled deeper against his body. It was Thursday. I knew I needed to get back to work. My bank account was dripping sweat at the depletion of funds, but Brando needed me.
I lay on his chest on his right side, tracing the indents and grooves in his abdomen through his shirt.
As I lay there, I wondered if being powerful was the same as healing. I craved power in all facets of my life. Mostly because it had been stripped of me in the worst way. I needed power over men, over my career, but mostly, over myself. Brando was pointing out faults in my armor. He pointed out that power didn’t mean I was healed.
Madison may war with herself, but she’d spent the last two years putting her pieces back together. I’d spent the last nine trying to forget mine.
Feeling uncomfortable in my own skin—I hated the feeling—I sat up, disrupting Trixie who was burrowed between Brando and my tangled feet. I wanted this. This simple morning. Of tangled feet and his soft snoring.
He looked so luscious sleeping. His stubble had become a small beard again, a deep onyx five o’clock shadow. His closed eyes and messy black hair only added to my ogling. In sleep, his depression rested. I had a feeling his negative mood had a lot to do with his current situation, but also to do with his past. My demons knew a tortured soul when they saw one.
I left him, rising carefully out of bed, and bent to pick up Trixie. I closed the door quietly and padded barefoot into the halls. Klay was at the kitchen bar on his laptop, brows furrowed. I could hear the shower faintly and guessed Madi was in there.
“Morning, small stick.” I put my shoes on near the door and bent to put Trixie’s leash on.
“Hmm,” he grunted, still pissed off I’d invited Brando to live with us.
“Get over it, Klay.”
“Get over it?” He turned around and shot me a glare. “Get over the fact that you invited a man to live in our apartment, where my girlfriend is, someone who can’t stand men around her?”
I sighed. “Klay, Madison loves Brando. He’s not a bad guy.”
I knew the real reason he was pissed. This time it was Brando, next time it may not be a man nearly as good. But the thing was, there would be no one after Brando. The confession slammed into my heart. There was only him. If for some reason my demons won, I’d let them ravage me.
Let them have the tiny bit of magic I still had.
I must’ve looked as defeated as I felt because Klay sighed too, running his hand through his dark brown hair. “I’ll work on it. And if it’s any consolation, Mad slept like a baby last night. Said she likes having two good men in the house. So.” He turned back.
I used the opportunity to smile knowingly. “Gonna take Trixie for a drive-by pee and poop. Wanna come?”
“In that?” He turned back around to study my sheer sleeping shorts and tank top. “I can see your pussy through the material.”
“Pretty, huh?” I cupped it, showing him my landing strip.
He chuckled and shook his head. “She’s got a certain pizzazz.”
“Pizzazz?” I laughed hard, clutching my side and heading for the door. “She sure does.”
Madison was in the living room drinking coffee when Trixie and I returned. Her dark honey hair hung down her back and around her shoulders. She looked up when I came in and beamed. Damn, her happiness was beautiful.
“Morning, Cardigan,” I greeted, knowing she hated it when Klay and I teased her for her “conservative” wardrobe. Ribbing her was the best.
Her smile fell. “Morning, Kat Von D.”
Behind us, Klay laughed. “Good one, Mad.”
“When you take your cardigans to the dry cleaners, what do you wear when you’re waiting for them? Pearls and cashmere?”
She snorted, ignoring Klay’s chuckle. “They have a sale at Forever Goth?”
Klay doubled over at the bar.
I let Trixie’s leash go. I also let Madison have that one. She was teasing, she was smiling—losing this round was worth it. “Whatever. You guys want breakfast? I can open a mean frozen breakfast burrito.” I opened the freezer, peeking under my arm to gauge their reactions.
Klay nodded at his laptop and Madison looked over her shoulder at me, pensive all of a sudden. “How is he, Cat? Really.” She put her chin in her hand on the back of the sofa and met my gaze.
I turned back to the freezer. Madison and Brando obviously had a connection. Victim to detective. I understood that, but it wasn’t my connection, and Brando seemed protective of his pain. He went above and beyond to keep every single ounce of it hidden.
“He’s about as good as anyone can be, what with eight bullets in his back and I think a million bullet holes I can’t see.” I unwrapped the frozen burritos and put them in the microwave and powered it on.
“He seems so different now. I don’t know if it was the bad place I was in when I met him, but he doesn’t look nearly as large or older. He looks like Klay. But with black hair.”
That said a lot. She wasn’t wrong. When Madi met Klay, he was an empty, lost man. “Maybe that’s why I like him.” I glanced at Klay to find him frowning at the monitor. “What are you thinking so hard about, Klay?”
“We’re down five thousand this month. Last one too. We’re still making way more than we did in Denver, but cost of living is more too.” Then his eyes met mine.
I got the hint. “All my fault, huh?”
“You’re my best artist. You’ve been gone a long time.”
“I didn’t have a choice.” Or I’d made the only choice I wanted.
“I’m not blaming you,” he assured me, and I believed him. He knew Brando was the master to my frenzied, manic puppets, even if he never said it out loud. “Isaiah cut back on clients with finals coming up. He needs to study. Miriam has kids. I need you back on the floor and one more body to pick up the slack.”
My heart lifted; I kept my face neutral. “Do me a favor, Klay?”
“Hmm?”
“Go into my bedroom and look at Brando’s arms.”
“Yeah, do it,” Madi chimed in.
And because Klay would do anything for the woman he loved, he shrugged and got up. He returned a minute later, brows furrowed and eyes churning.
“Since when is he covered in ink?”
“Since always. He wears a lot of suits. Or he wore suits.”
Madi snapped. “That’s why he seems different. He’s not a covered-up cop now. He’s a man covered in tattoos and pain.” Her tone saddened.
I jumped on Klay while I had the chance. With the soft, concerned look he gave Madi, I had him. “He drew every single tattoo he has on his body.”
“He drew those?” He rubbed his freshly shaved chin. “Pretty sick ink.”
“He can pick up the slack.” It felt like a puzzle piece slid into place. A warped, ripped up, unrecognizable pie
ce, but it fit nonetheless. “I’ll help him get certified.”
Klay nodded slowly, rolling the idea around in his head. “It’s not like I have another option.”
I beamed.
“But,” he continued, trying and failing to knock the wind out of my sails. “If he’s going to become a Guns & Ink employee, he’s got to try working on someone.” He shot me a heavy look.
I gulped. “You want him to practice on me?” My knees wobbled. Brando branding me? Putting forever magic onto my skin? I felt faint with desire. “Yeah, of course.” Hell yeah. Yes, please.
My panties were soaking wet.
Klay smiled knowingly and sank down on the couch beside Madi. She immediately curled up on his lap and he kissed her temple. “Where’s my burrito?” he called over his shoulder.
After they left for the shop for the day, I made Brando his own burrito and a cup of coffee, lugging in his pill bottle in my fist. He was twisted in my black and yellow sheets, his sleeping face cruel. I imagined his nightmares and decided I didn’t want to know why. I set his food down and then curled up beside him, stroking his stubble-covered jaw insistently.
“Wake up. I come with coffee and breakfast burritos.”
His lips twitched, and he turned into my hold, rolling on his side and pulling me in his arms. It was such an impulsive response. One he hadn’t hesitated doing; he’d simply felt like holding me. My heart lurched. I melted against his warm body. His heat was engulfing, seeping into my bones. My demons shuddered from the fire on their frost. I fought my ice with his fire and couldn’t wait to burn.
Our heat-filled bubble lasted five more seconds before he fell onto his back and his teeth gritted. He hadn’t even lain that way before. He was getting better. Even wanting to lie on his side had to be a good sign he was getting better.
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