Pretty Broken Bastard: A Standalone Novel

by Jeana E. Mann

  The refrain of AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” blasted from his phone, resting in the console. He hit the Bluetooth button on the steering wheel. “Hey, Darcy. What’s the good news? You’re on speakerphone, and Jo is in the car. Keep it clean.”

  A brash female voice with a decidedly New Jersey accent blasted from the speakers. “I resent that. I’m always professional.” Carter winced and dialed down the volume a notch. “I got hold of Calloway. He can see you tomorrow morning. That’s the good news. The bad news is that Taggart also contacted a few other bounty hunters on this case, so you’re not the only one looking for her.”

  “Shit,” Carter muttered. “You didn’t tell him about the situation, did you?”

  Her voice carried a wounded tone. “Of course not. This isn’t my first rodeo, Carter.”

  “I know. I just wanted to see what we’re dealing with.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Thanks for the help.”

  “You’re welcome. Oh, and I’m supposed to remind you about the wedding this weekend.”

  “Great.” Carter growled and shoved a hand through his long, flowing locks. “I forgot all about it.”

  “Of course you did. That’s why you need me.” Laughter laced her voice, accompanied by an incessant jingling, like the clinking of heavy jewelry. “I had your tux cleaned. I hung it in your bedroom closet. Don’t forget to get a haircut and shave off that rat’s nest on your face.”

  The intimacy of her words sent a prickle of jealousy up my back. He’d never mentioned Darcy before, but from the ease of their conversation, they were well acquainted. Not only did she possess a key to his apartment, she’d been in his bedroom. I huffed and turned my gaze back to the window. Whatever he and Darcy did behind closed doors was none of my business, but no matter how many times I told myself that, I couldn’t shake the jealousy.

  Carter flushed, his fingers going to the hair on his chin. “Don’t be a hater, Darcy.”

  Their conversation turned to other business, allowing my mind to drift. The number of problems in my life continued to mount. The coffee shop needed more staff. Last month’s rent had yet to be paid. Harold had my dog, and I was now a fugitive from the law in the possession of a bounty hunter who both thrilled and annoyed me. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d kissed me this morning, long and deep and lingering. No one had ever kissed me like that. My lips felt bruised and swollen, the space between my legs throbbed in the best possible way, and every muscle in my body ached, like I’d been torn apart and put back together.

  Once we reached the house, Carter sent me upstairs. “Go clean up. I’m going to talk to Mr. H and make a few phone calls.”

  The solitude of my bathroom offered little comfort beyond familiarity. Everything was in the same place, same purple towels, same Cotton Candy Delight shower gel and body lotion on the shelf. I’d been gone less than a day, but my life had taken a new and unwelcome turn. The bathroom was the same, but I had changed. I could hardly look at myself in the mirror. Over the years, I’d done some dumb things, smoked pot in the restroom at high school, been suspended for skipping class, but I’d never been arrested. Dad was going to be so disappointed. After the hurtful things I’d said last night, he would never forgive me, and I couldn’t blame him.

  With a heavy heart, I showered and took my sweet time about it. When I’d stalled as long as possible, I trudged downstairs to face the consequences, butterflies in my stomach. Dad greeted me with open arms, pulled me into a hug, and squeezed me tight. Hot tears burned my eyes. I blinked them back. I didn’t deserve his compassion or understanding. I wanted him to yell and threaten and punish me for being an idiot.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said over and over into my hair. “I let you take on all the responsibility, and that’s not what a father does. I’ve been so busy feeling sorry for myself that I forgot to take care of you.”

  “It’s okay, Dad.” I tried to loosen his grip, but he only held me tighter. Over his shoulder, I saw Carter talking on his phone, pacing back and forth down the hallway. “I’m an adult. I don’t need you to take care of me.”

  “No, it’s not okay. I’ve been selfish. You’ve given up your life to hold things together. I never worried about you the way I worried about Bronte. You’ve always been the strong one, the responsible one.” He smoothed my hair back from my face. The strength in his arms reminded me of the dad I used to know, the one who’d kissed my skinned knees and always made everything better. “That doesn’t excuse what you’ve done. You’ll have to answer for it, but I’ll do whatever it takes to help you.”

  A tremor threatened my control. I bit my lower lip. I will not cry. I. Will. Not. Cry. I didn’t know what Carter had said, but somehow he’d managed to soothe my father’s temper and turn a disaster into a manageable event. Our eyes met across the faded pink rug. He winked, and a different kind of warmth traveled into my core. This was more than sexual attraction; it was confusing and exhilarating and frightening.

  From the back of the house, the screen door creaked and slammed. Bronte and Rhett entered through the kitchen, their faces grim. My sister charged at me like a bull in front of a waving red cape.

  I shot Carter an exasperated look. “You didn’t waste any time spreading the good news, did you?”

  “Simmer down. They need to know what’s going on,” he said. The jumping muscle beneath his cheekbone gave him a menacing appearance.

  “We’re here to lend a hand any way we can,” Rhett said. “Family sticks together.”

  Bronte’s blue eyes watered with sympathy and guilt. “I wish you’d told me. You can always talk to me, you know?”

  “I know.” The words caught on the lump in my throat. When she pulled me into a tight hug, the lump grew larger. I held on to her, my anxiety easing under her embrace. Although we fought like cats and dogs, she’d always been my best friend. Looking at the circle of support around me, I gained new perspective on my life. I’d been so busy hating on Harold that I’d overlooked all the blessings that had come from our breakup. I loved the coffee shop, meeting new customers, the joy in serving the perfect cup of cappuccino to someone in need of a smile. Those things would never have come about if I’d stayed with Harold. Maybe I needed to be grateful for what I had instead of pining for what I’d lost.

  “Rhett and I will help take care of things until you get back,” Bronte said. She drew away then thumped me across the back of the head with her hand.

  “Ouch.” I scowled and rubbed my crown. “What was that for?”

  “That’s for being a dipshit. Don’t ever do that again.”

  Everyone stared then burst into laughter, including me. After the stress of the morning, it felt good to release the emotions on something other than tears. That was when her words hit home. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “What do you mean, when I get back?”

  “You’re coming to stay with me for a few days.” Carter strode toward me. The lines of his body crackled with electricity. He pocketed his phone. His gaze cut through me and into me and devoured me. I felt naked and vulnerable. “No one will think to look for you at my place.” The tense line of his jaw softened, setting into motion all the fluttery attraction I’d been fighting against. “Pack a bag, and we’ll get out of here.”

  Given Carter’s bachelor status, I’d never devoted much thought to his residence. I’d assumed he had an apartment littered with empty pizza boxes and crushed beer cans. Then again, up to this point, my assumptions had been wrong about him. Despite his best efforts to hide it from everyone, his recent actions had revealed his true character. Beneath his rough and wild exterior lurked a sympathetic soul and a kind heart.

  Through the car window, the quiet neighborhoods evolved into the city’s warehouse district. I’d only been here a handful of times, and stared at the unfamiliar streets. Recently, there had been a movement of trendy and upscale businesses to the area, revitalizing what had once been a derelict zone. We passed micro-breweries, restaurants, and converted apartm
ents. Traffic lights reflected off the rain-slicked streets. The windshield wipers beat a comforting tattoo, echoing the rhythm of my poor little heart.

  “Home sweet home,” he said in a tone I couldn’t decipher. We stopped in front of a five-story, brown brick warehouse. The plaque above the foundation read Hudson Steel Building, Erected 1892. With the press of a button, the enormous overhead door lifted. He pulled the Escalade through the door and parked in what appeared to be the living room of his apartment. Except it was large enough to be the lobby of The Four Seasons Hotel.

  I stared open-mouthed, turning in a circle, dizzy from the sights. Exposed pipes and beams crisscrossed through five stories of open space. Gray daylight illuminated enormous windows and a huge skylight at the very top. To my right, a series of metal stairs led to different levels of lofts and balconies.

  Carter said, “Better close your mouth. Something’s going to fly in there.”

  His words broke my trance. “You live here?”

  “Yep.” With my overnight bag in hand, he strode toward a freight elevator.

  “For real? This whole thing is yours?” I trotted after him, feeling foolish and amazed and awestruck. “Who are you—Batman?”

  “Well, I own the building. This half is my residence. The other side of the building is loft apartments for rent.” His biceps bulged as he slid open the door to the elevator cage.

  I swallowed and followed him inside, feeling like I’d fallen down the rabbit hole and landed in an alternate universe. With the throw of a lever and the grinding of gears, the elevator lurched into motion and began to ascend. After a painful silence fraught with unspoken conflict, we arrived at the top floor. The elevator opened into a vestibule with two pairs of double doors. Carter opened the doors to my left. We entered a vast master suite furnished in earthy tones and heavy, masculine furniture.

  “You can sleep in here.” He tossed my duffel bag on the king-size bed and turned to leave. “I’ll take the room next door.”

  “Carter, I can’t take your room. It wouldn’t be right. I’ll stay in the other room or I can sleep on the sofa.” When I touched his arm, he winced, like I’d stung him. Somewhere between the hotel and his house, we’d become intimate strangers. I knew the way his legs trembled right before he came, the quirk of his left eyebrow when I said something amusing, and the star tattoo below his left hipbone. All these things meant nothing now, standing together in his bedroom, with an ocean of misunderstandings and questions between us.

  “It’s no problem. The other rooms aren’t finished, and I want you to be comfortable. Make yourself at home. I insist.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and kept walking, pausing at the door. “Someone comes in to clean a few days a week. There isn’t much to eat. I can order a pizza or something if you’re hungry.”

  “It’s okay. You don’t need to go to any trouble.” My insides quivered with nervous anxiety. Food hovered at the bottom on my list of priorities. After the events of the day, I needed a hot shower and a good cry to get myself back on track.

  He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

  “It’s a big deal to me.” I took another step toward him, and he took a step back. The shuttered look had returned to his gaze.

  From his jeans pocket, his phone buzzed. He answered the call with a terse, “Yeah?” The unmistakable pitch of a female voice floated in the air. His eyes met mine then flicked away. He went into the next room and closed the door.

  I flopped onto the bed and tried to ignore the masculine rumble of his voice through the walls.

  Finally, alone, I let the tears flow—tears of relief and guilt and anger and frustration. What the hell was happening? One minute, I controlled my life, and the next minute, I was holed up in Carter’s massive bedroom, a fugitive from the law. The thought of jail terrified me. All this trouble because of my inability to let go of a dog.

  After a few minutes of self-pity, I dried my tears and gathered the shreds of my dignity. I unpacked my bag and investigated the room. A huge fireplace took up the entire south wall. Buttery leather armchairs faced an enormous flat-screen TV, a coffee table with a chess board, and an old-fashioned pinball machine. It was a beautiful room but lacked personality—no family photos, no personal touches, nothing to show that anyone lived there.

  Was this his life? Solitary? Lonely? For the first time, I realized how little I knew of him, of his family, his personal life. This peek into his home added a new layer to his already convoluted personality. I owed him a lot. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. And he certainly was, without question, the best sex I’d ever had. Once I got through this mess, I wanted to learn more about him.

  As if on cue, his bedroom door opened, and he stepped into the hall. He was freshly showered. The scent of his soap drifted across the room, teasing my nose, making me want him. Gold-brown eyes avoided mine.

  “I’m going back to work,” he said. “I’m not sure what time I’ll be home. Late. Don’t wait up.”

  “Okay.” I sat on the bed, tucking a foot beneath me. Of course he had things to do, and of course he’d be out late. Everyone knew Carter was a playboy, haunting dive bars, picking up women, partying all night. Just because he’d taken me in didn’t mean he’d given up his lifestyle. I tried to curb the disappointment in my voice. “Be careful. Have a nice night.”

  “Yeah,” he said. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. I sounded like an overprotective mother. His broad shoulders turned and moved toward the elevator.

  “Wait.” I sprang from the bed and trotted after him. “I really appreciate this—what you’re doing for me. I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

  “I don’t want your money.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “But there is something you could do for me.”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “I have a wedding on Saturday, and I need a date.”

  I stared at him, my overtaxed brain struggling to process his question. “You want me to fix you up with someone?”

  “No, dummy.” A hint of a smile twitched the left corner of his mouth. “I want you to be my date.”

  “Carter, about your question—about seeing each other—”

  He cut me off with a sarcastic smirk. “Yeah, about that. Forget it. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not that kind of guy, and you obviously have relationship issues.” The way he rushed to clarify the situation tweaked my pride, but I couldn’t fault his logic. “The wedding and reception are on Saturday. It’ll be formal and stuffy and super boring, but I promised…someone…I’d be there.”

  The last thing I wanted to do was spend time at a stranger’s wedding when my own engagement had ended so badly. I studied his face, searching for his motivation. The early afternoon sun fell in dappled spots across the polished pine floor, casting half his face in shadows, sharpening his features. His T-shirt molded to the dips and swells of his muscular torso. He was, without a doubt, a stallion of a man. My fingers curled and uncurled, fighting against the urge to touch him. There must have been dozens of women eager and willing to spend a weekend with him, women who were prettier and sexier than me. Had I missed my chance to lay a claim on him?

  “I didn’t pack anything for a wedding,” I said.

  “I’ll have Darcy take care of it.” His gaze wandered up and down my body. “You’re what? A size four?”

  “Six,” I said.

  He nodded and with those parting words, left me standing barefoot, in the middle of his house. At the mention of Darcy’s name, my head thumped with a mixture of jealousy and resignation. A man like Carter could never be tamed. He’d never be satisfied with one woman, and the sooner I accepted the fact, the sooner I could get over this all-consuming desire to have him.

  Chapter 18

  Carter

  After work, I went for a few beers at the bar because I couldn’t trust myself to be alone with Jo. I waited until she’d be asleep then crept into the apartment. I’d never intended to let my lust get so out of control, but I had
to admit the situation had gotten crazy. I didn’t do things like this. I didn’t bring women into my home. I didn’t skirt the law to protect them. Now, with only a wall between us, I couldn’t get her out of my head. I fell asleep with my dick in my hand, dreamed of her pretty tits, and awoke with a raging erection and a mild hangover.

  The smell of bacon and coffee lured me from the bedroom. Jo stood in front of the stove, wearing one of my oversized T-shirts, her hair piled high on top of her head. Fuck me if it wasn’t the sexiest thing I’d ever seen—a woman in my clothes, in my kitchen, cooking food for me. The caveman inside me roared his approval.

  “You’re wearing my shirt.” The outlines of her breasts pressed against the thin cotton. A strange shiver ran down my back as my gaze lowered to the short hemline, the pale skin of her thighs, and her bare feet. Pink polish tipped her toes. Even her feet turned me on.

  “Um, yes. I forgot to pack pajamas.” One of her small, fragile fingers ran along the inside of the collar, like she was letting off steam. “If it’s a problem—”

  Yes, it was a problem. If I had my way, she’d be naked. I cleared my throat. “No, it’s fine.” After an awkward pause, I tried to look at something other than her bare legs. “What are you doing?”

  Her gaze crawled over my black boxer briefs, along my chest, and stopped at my lips for a long, heart-stopping moment. I probably should have put on pants. I’d been living alone so long, the thought had never occurred to me until then. Just another thing I had in common with Mr. H. The blatant heat in her eyes stirred my cock to life. I stepped behind the kitchen island to hide my arousal.

  “It’s an amazing invention called cooking,” she said, rolling her eyes with a small smile. “I found a box of pancake mix and some bacon. I hope you don’t mind.”