Beautiful Wreck

by Kasey Lane

  “Hey, hey, hey,” he said quickly. “Let’s get you home. We can come get your car later. Or I can drop you off at work in the morning.”

  Oh, right. No kissing. He’d made that abundantly clear the other night, too.

  “I said I’m fine.” She pulled away and yanked on her shirt, cringing as she brushed against the bandage taped to her side. “How much do I owe you?”

  “We can talk about that later. Let’s just get you home, okay?” At least he had the decency to look slightly chagrined. Not that she gave two nickels about how he felt. He reached out to touch her arm and she flinched against her will. Dammit, when would that instinct finally go away?

  “I’d like to talk about it now.”

  “Hey, I’d really like to take you home. It’s late and you’re tired.”

  She frowned. “You don’t get to decide how I get home or if I’m tired. If I say I’m fine then I’m fine. What. Do. I. Owe. You?”

  Bowen sighed loudly. “I’m charging you half my hourly rate. Don’t give me that look. I told you I was having a special. This was two and a half hours. I’ll put it on your tab, okay?”

  She nodded. Needing to escape the stifling room, she threw the office door open, but before she could walk out—or run away—he touched her shoulder. “I’m following you home. Don’t even think about leaving before me. Got it?”

  She wanted to turn and tell him to fuck himself. Or that she did what she wanted. He didn’t get to tell her what to do. No one did. But the words wouldn’t form on her tongue. His gravelly baritone issuing a clear command left no room for challenge. And any retort she conjured sounded ridiculous in her head, more akin to “you’re not the boss of me” than anything else. Sadly, she liked the tumbling feeling his voice gave her. She was beginning to crave it…and his stupid kisses.

  “Don’t forget, I know where you live,” he said with a chuckle. A laugh more sardonic than humorous. Probably because she’d embarrassed him with her sloppy attempt at a kiss. Ugh. She needed to get away from him and clear her foggy brain.

  “Whatever. I’ll wait for you up front,” she replied without turning around. Because if she looked at him, he’d be able to see right through her.

  “You better.” His voice was low and dry, nearly a growl. Shit. She was in trouble if she spent any more time around him. She really should try and get this tattoo done and move the heck on, she thought as she settled onto one of the big leather couches in the lobby area of the shop.

  Almost fifteen minutes later she was reading through her work emails when Bowen walked down the darkened hall with his worn black leather jacket on and his helmet under his arm. He was shutting off lights and checking the climate controls for the shop, but looked up after switching everything off except a small light on the counter and the colorful shop neon sign blinking in the window. She stood as he stepped close to her, leaned forward and flipped the sign from open to closed behind her. She took a ragged breath, still off-kilter from hours under the tattoo machine, his hands on her, and the kiss that didn’t happen.

  Instead of stepping away, he stood nearly toe to toe with her, looking down with those damn soul-sucking gray-blue eyes. His face was shadowed with red and blue light flashing off his high cheekbones. She watched as his hand lifted slowly, maybe to give her warning that he was going to touch her. His thumb brushed her cheek and dragged back across her face, sending tingles of electricity feathering across her skin until he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He didn’t drop his hand then, but just cupped her cheek.

  He gazed at her intently and she couldn’t look away. She wanted to. Fucking hell she needed to, but she just couldn’t tear herself from his eyes. “You’re beautiful, Gabby. So beautiful it almost hurts to look at you. It’s like looking at the sun. And I want to kiss you more than I want anything else. But I can’t.” He dropped his hand and took a step back. “I can’t because I’ve got my own shit to deal with and you don’t need any part of it. You deserve something better than a broken-down alcoholic who’s never been in a real relationship. I always fuck it up. It’s like I don’t know how not to.”

  She took a deep breath and felt her heart drop into her belly. So that was his story. The ole “I’m not good enough for you” song and dance. She wasn’t buying his “it’s not you it’s me” bullshit. Not one single bit. She didn’t want anything long-term with anyone either, but she had entertained the idea of maybe having a fling—or whatever someone calls a friends with benefits thing with a hot neighbor—with Bowen. Perhaps he could be the one to teach her about sex and help her move on. But nope, nope, a thousand times nope. As usual, she was fucking wrong. He was not that guy. And the disappointment niggled at the back of her mind, despite her rising anger.

  “Don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy.” With more bravado than she felt she turned and pushed open the glass door, and stomped into the cold night. The air felt thick with unshed rain. “I’m not interested in a relationship with you or with anyone else.” He followed her out into the parking lot. When she reached her car she pivoted on her Chuck Taylors and put a fist to her hip. “I’m not looking for a relationship. I was looking for a hookup. Your loss.”

  Unlocking her door and pulling it open, she turned and caught his wide eyes. And laughed. How about that? She’d surprised the reformed bad boy. Maybe even shocked him.

  Good.

  Chapter Five

  Bowen followed Gabby up three flights of stairs and down the hall she’d disappeared into. He spotted her in the doorway of her apartment standing still, not moving in and not slamming the door in his face. “Gabby,” he called to her as he stomped closer. “Just stop for a min…what the fuck?”

  He stopped behind her and looked over her shoulder into her cyclone-ravaged living room before pulling her behind him. Literally every piece of furniture she owned had been turned on its side or broken into pieces. Her pillows and couch had been gutted and her kitchen cupboards barfed their contents all over the floor and counters. Somebody wanted to hurt Gabby; someone wanted her to suffer. What other explanation could there be for the total destruction of her home?

  What if they were still there? What if they really did want to hurt her? The thought was a punch to the chest. He moved to block her body with his. “Gabby, we need to get out of here. We can call the police from my apartment,” he whispered still staring into the room. But she didn’t respond. He heard her breathing softly over the sounds of a neighbor’s television, but Gabby just stood there. “Sweetheart, we need to go in case someone is still here.”

  She turned to face him and her eyes were wide, welling with tears about to overflow, and the lost look on her face nearly choked him. Never could he have imagined this fierce woman with such sadness overwhelming her features. Anger he expected. Not this. Dragging in a fortifying breath, he said softly, “I’m going to take you out of here. Don’t fight me. I need to make sure you’re safe, okay?”

  She distractedly shrugged one slim shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her, tugging her into his side, which felt…pretty fucking awesome despite the shit-show of the circumstances. Trying to focus on her need to be safe and not how great she felt curled into his body, he led her down the hall and to the elevator since she’d never let him carry her and she was in no shape to walk up another flight of stairs. He pulled out his phone and called the police as the elevator came to a stop at his floor.

  Once she settled on his couch with a cup of tea and an afghan his mom had made when he was five, he sat next to her. “The police will be here soon. Do you have any idea who might have done this? Who might want to hurt you?”

  Slowly she turned her head to face him and opened her mouth to speak. But a gut-busting sob escaped and the tears she’d so bravely held back, spilled down her cheeks. He immediately moved closer to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. His need to comfort her was nearly overwhelming, quelled only by his respect for her need to keep space between them. Bowen was struck by how desperate he was to ease
her sadness, or fear, or whatever she was feeling.

  His restraint was a threadbare tightrope ready to snap. Her nearness, first under his tattoo machine all evening and now in his arms, was wearing thin. He didn’t like all these feelings: helplessness, lust, protectiveness, anger—taking up space in his head like hamsters on a wheel to nowhere. But she needed him. Needed him to help her, not hump her. Again he had to reprimand himself like a naughty toddler. This is how you do the friends thing. Hug her, be there for her. You don’t have to bang every vagina that hops into your path.

  “It’s okay, Gabrielle. It’s okay,” he murmured into her soft hair, which smelled strangely of oranges and chocolate. He inhaled deeply as he stroked her back. Yeah. She smelled like citrus and cocoa. Pretty fucking awesome. “The cops will be here in a couple minutes. You can talk to them here, but you’ll probably want me to leave.” She lifted her hands from her face and wrapped them around his chest, her finger digging into his back.

  “No,” she whimpered and clung to him.

  “I’m not really on good terms with the police in this area.” She might as well know the truth. “I used to get into a lot of trouble. You’re better off on your own.” The words nearly stuck in his throat. Leaving her on her own was not what he wanted to do. The mere thought of it made acid churn in his gut. He wanted to shield her from whatever ugliness was trying to strong-arm its way into her life. But what if he made it worse…like he usually did?

  “No,” she said again and pulled back to look into his face. Their eyes locked. Hers were starting to swell and were rimmed with pink, making the green more striking than usual. Mesmerizing. “I can’t do this alone.”

  And he knew that was probably one of the hardest things she’d ever said aloud to another person. Because if he’d figured out anything about his tough-as-nails neighbor it was that she did everything alone. Huh. Maybe they were more alike than he thought.

  “I’ll stay with you.”

  He could do that for her, prove that he was more than a loser with a preference for cheap women and cheaper booze. He could be more like his sister. Reliable. Not weak like he had been. When Gabby leaned her cheek on his chest and kept her arms wrapped tightly around him, he knew he wanted to be someone people asked for help. “Thank you,” she said, her voice raspy from crying.

  A loud knock sounded through the small apartment and she startled in his arms with a sharp gasp. He kissed the top of her head and peeled his hands from his body. “It’s the police. You need to give them a statement.”

  Her previously glassy eyes looked sharper now as she stood, straightened her shoulders and wrapped her messy ponytail into an efficient bun. Before stepping to the door she turned back and grabbed his hand, tugging him up from the couch. “You promise you’ll stay with me?” He nodded. “Even if you don’t like what you hear?” Before he could ask her what that meant she dragged him to the door and opened it. Bowen noted that she still gripped his hand, but hadn’t bothered to check the peephole. Why? When she obviously was concerned for her own welfare since she had three locks on her own door. It couldn’t be his presence because Lord knew Bowen Landry didn’t make anyone safer.

  Two uniformed officers stood at the door. A tall, barrel-chested man and a petite redhead who didn’t look much older than Gabby. “Gabrielle Alvarez?” the woman asked. She nodded and Bowen invited them in to sit on the couch. “I’m Officer Collins and this is Officer Lyons. We’re here to take your statement and ask you some questions about the break-in.”

  Lyons pulled out a small notepad and after confirming her contact information and the address of her apartment, without looking up asked her to describe what happened. Since Gabby hadn’t even entered her apartment there wasn’t much of a statement to give. “We’ve already cleared the apartment and made sure there’s no obvious threat, but we’d like you to go down with us and take note of anything stolen. We’ll also take some pictures.”

  Gabby shifted and worried her hands in her lap. “It’s been a long day for her, officers. Is there any way we can cut this short tonight and go through the apartment tomorrow?”

  “It’s really best if we do it tonight,” Collins answered. “We’ll expedite our questions, but this way Ms. Alvarez can grab some belongings too.” She turned to Gabby. “Do you have a place to stay for a few days?”

  “She’ll stay with me,” Bowen said before Gabby could object. “You’ll be safe, and you’ll be near your stuff.”

  “No.”

  “I’m not arguing with you. If you find another place to stay then fine, but tonight you’ll stay here.”

  The officers exchanged a glance. “Okay, then, before we go down, do you know of anyone who would want to hurt you or is angry with you? This could be random violence and we don’t know if anything is missing yet, but it seems quite personal.”

  Gabby scrunched her brows together and tilted her head. “What do you mean by personal?”

  Collins looked up from the notepad he was scribbling on and locked eyes with Gabby. “There were some things written on the wall and bed.”

  Her dark complexion faded and her face became drawn. “What things?”

  The officer smiled softly. “We’ll go down in a minute and you can see for yourself. In the meantime, any enemies?”

  She shrugged and nibbled on her bottom lip. “Maybe. I volunteer at the Women’s Community Resource Center—Quirk—and sometimes the exes can be assholes.”

  “Anyone specific you’ve ever had a problem with?”

  “No. There’s a guy at work who’s pissed because he thinks I stole his promotion.”

  “Did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Steal his promotion?” Officer Lyons asked.

  “Of course not. How could someone even do that? I’m better at my job. He had a hard time processing that a woman—a younger woman—could be more qualified than him. But he’s not threatening or anything.”

  She gave them the man’s name while Bowen stayed still, desperately trying to shove down the blistering anger threatening to bubble up. Why was he so fucking angry? Gabby was safe and the police were here, yet he still felt that old familiar tug of chaos swirling around, ready to plunge him back into quagmire. But this was getting to be too much. Too much feeling. Too much fear. Too much of everything.

  “Anyone else you can think of? Anything small even?”

  Her eyes darted to Bowen then back to the officers sitting across from them. “Yes,” she said almost imperceptibly and cleared her throat. “Bowen, I need to tell them something privately.” He started to object because she’d clearly stated that she wanted him by her side, but she put her hand up. “It’s okay. Uh, it involves a client so it’s confidential.” She looked down at her hands and bit her lip again.

  Fine. Maybe she changed her mind about needing him. Maybe it did involve someone from Quirk. Maybe it didn’t. He needed a break anyway. Needed to get all this shit in his head back in line. Shoving up from his seat, he said, “I’ll meet you down at your place.” Without looking back, he walked out into the hall and down the stairs to Gabby’s apartment. The whole time battling the urge to just bail. Run from this whole mess, the girl, her past, his recovery. Fuck everything.

  *

  Gabby ducked under the yellow police ribbon taped across her door and walked into her apartment behind Officers Lyons and Collins. She didn’t exactly trust cops, but these two seemed sincere enough. Just doing their jobs. But the two assholes six years ago who had been just doing their jobs left a pretty lasting impression on her. Cops suck. That was the impression they’d left.

  She hadn’t enjoyed sharing her deepest darkest secret with Lyons and Collins, but she didn’t really have a choice. If her place had been trashed by someone in Owen McNeil’s family—and she highly doubted it was—then she wanted the police to know. Not that they’d do fuck all about it. If McNeil wanted to get to her, there wasn’t much anyone could do to keep him away.

  Looking around she reali
zed instantly why they thought the attack was personal. And she completely agreed. Bowen stood staring at her living room wall where the words “You’ll pay WHORE,” were scrawled in angry orange paint. Yep. Definitely personal. Great.

  Bowen stood with his back to her, with his arms crossed against his chest. The muscles in his shoulders bunched tightly under his navy-blue T-shirt and she could hear him exhaling deep breaths. Without turning he said, “I hope you’re taking this seriously. Because this fucker isn’t screwing around. Did you tell them about the car?”

  Collins poked her head back in the room from the hall. “We are taking this seriously, Mr. Landry. Yes, she told us about the graffiti on her car. And the rose petals.”

  He spun and glared at Gabby. “What rose petals? How long has this been going on?”

  Dammit. Him holding her while she had a meltdown didn’t grant him access to be all up in her business. This did not concern him. And if the McNeils had something to do with it then she really didn’t want him involved.

  “Come on, Gabrielle, why won’t you let me help you?” He moved closer to her and lifted his arms as if to grab her shoulders, but quickly dropped them. She wished she didn’t flinch every time someone touched her. She wished none of this was happening and she wasn’t a fucked-up mess. And she really wished she hadn’t cried in his arms.

  As she waited for both officers to move to the back of the apartment she pushed down the acid pool in her stomach. It had been a long day. She didn’t need this now. Well, she didn’t need it ever, but especially after a long day at work and then almost three hours under the gun. “Why?” she asked keeping her voice low. “This has nothing to do with you. I don’t need help.” She poked his chest. “So back off.”

  He wrapped his huge hand around her finger, but kept the tip pressed against his chest—his very hard, very muscly chest. “Because you asked me to not leave you alone. Because we’re friends, Gabby. We hang out with the same group of people. We both volunteer at Quirk. We live in the same apartment building. What more do you need, for fuck’s sake?”