My landlord.
Jude Wayland.
The guy was a human bulldozer.
I forced myself to look up and meet his eyes, because the guy owned the roof over my head and that meant I had to be polite, right? As always, as soon as I lifted my gaze I felt the impact of those gentle brown peepers staring down at me like a wallop to the sternum. My reaction annoyed the hell out of me, like it always did. Kind eyes or not, he couldn’t be trusted. No man could. Behind those eyes could lurk the mind of a sexual deviant or a serial killer. Just because he seemed nice, was kind to older ladies and desperate women with children, didn’t mean jack shit. I’d thought Evan was a super nice guy when I met him. My mom had thought the same about my Dad, and somehow Trent had convinced Rebecca he wasn’t the slimy asshole that he was. People pretended all the time to get what they wanted.
I was never falling for that shit ever again.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I blurted. So much for being polite.
His brows shot north.
I felt my face heat. Shit. “I mean, I didn’t call, the water heater is working fine.” It was also nearly 11 p.m.
“I called him,” Fay said.
I hitched Tilly higher in my arms—that were aching by this point—and spun to her face her. “What? Why?”
“There was some creep hanging around your place. Jude here used to be a cop.” She shrugged. “What else was I gonna do?”
Crap. “I told you I have everything under control,” I said to her, then looked back at my landlord. “Sorry for the hassle, but your assistance isn’t required here, it never was.”
He made a rumbling sound, not actual words, but he didn’t need them, the sound easily translated to You’re full of shit. He gave me an up and down and his eyes softened. He reached out. “Give me the kid, you look ready to collapse.”
“I’ve got her.” I made to walk past and my shaking legs started to give out.
Before I could go down, the behemoth beside me cursed and scooped me and Tilly up in his enormous arms and started toward my house.
My head spun toward him so fast I probably looked like the chick from The Exorcist. “What in the actual fuck?” I hissed.
He carried on walking. “Woman, you were about to fall over holding your kid.”
“No, I wasn’t.” My heart was hammering in my chest, and there was a weird flippy-floppy feeling going nuts in my belly.
“Right,” he muttered and carried on up the stairs to my front door. The brownstone was three stories high. The first floor was a separate apartment, which was currently empty, and also owned by the guy carrying me. Tilly and I had the two floors above.
As soon as we hit the top step, he settled me back on my feet, then reached out and took Tilly from me. I stared up at him in shock. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“Keys,” he muttered.
Seeing as the big bastard didn’t look to be in a hurry to go anywhere, I yanked my keys from my pocket, unlocked the door, and shoved it open. He strode in after me.
“Where do you want her?” he asked.
With Trent showing up, I didn’t want her out of my sight, so I led him upstairs to the master bedroom. “In here. Put her in my bed.” I pulled the covers back.
He did, then stood back as I lay her down and tucked her in. When I turned around, those brown eyes weren’t soft anymore; they were sharp, intelligent, probing.
I shooed him out of my room, like an unwelcome stray cat, and pulled the door closed behind me. The last thing I wanted was to wake Tilly, but then I doubted anything could wake her at this point. My niece slept heavily, always had.
I planted my hands on my hips and scowled up at him. “What the fuck, man?”
His lips twitched.
Awesome. I was throwing off my best get-the-fuck-lost vibes and this asshole found me amusing. I went back downstairs and he followed. “You did your good deed for the day, you can leave now.”
The smirk vanished. “Sit down.”
My spine straightened, and I wondered if it was humanly possible to actually spit fire. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re bleeding’ every-damn-where. Sit the hell down and let me take a look at your knees.”
I glanced down. Well, shit, I must have scraped them up worse than I thought. “I can take care of it.”
He ignored me, walked into the kitchen and opened the cupboard under the sink, pulling out the first-aid kit I stored under there. He’d obviously seen it when he unblocked the pipe a couple months ago. He turned to face me and the determination I saw there had me taking a step back.
He froze, and then the guy kind of slouched, like he was trying to make himself smaller, holding his hands up in front of him. All I’m-not-armed-I-surrender, or whatever.
“Willa, I just want to take a look at your knees, that’s it.”
Jesus, he thought I was scared of him. I didn’t want him to think that. I wasn’t scared, I just didn’t want him to touch me, for several reasons, but I also didn’t want him to think…
“That guy that came here tonight? Is he your ex? Has he hurt you before?”
That.
I took a steadying breath. No, my ex was a different species of pond scum than Trent. All the shit Evan had spouted about loving me had been nothing but lies. I should have known better, but I’d obviously needed one final kick in the guts to get the message. You couldn’t trust anyone. You just…couldn’t.
I looked over at Jude. I didn’t need this guy in my business, and I got the feeling that’s exactly what would happen if I shared anything with him. I didn’t want him sticking his nose in, making himself feel good, like some great big, muscular do-gooder.
Trent was a low piece of shit, but I could handle him on my own. I didn’t need a man for anything, certainly not this. But I wasn’t getting rid of him—the guy was an ex-cop for Christ’s sake—and if he thought I was a battered woman in need of rescuing, he’d be all over that shit like white on rice.
So, I relaxed my stance and forced a laugh. “Nope, to all of the above.” I shrugged and plonked down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Right, let’s get this over with. If you want to play nursemaid, big guy, who am I to argue.”
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed a little.
“So, you’ve fixed a few scrapes before?” I said to kill the silence, to make sure he didn’t go back to questioning me.
He dumped the first-aid kit on the kitchen table and then crouched down, his own knees cracking as he did. Even like that, the guy was huge, biceps straining the sleeves of his t-shirt, shoulders so damn wide that when he was standing in front of me, he was all I could see.
He flicked open the lid on the first-aid kit and pulled out some antibacterial wipes. “A few.” He gently started cleaning around my grazes.
“How’d you get these?” he asked without looking up.
I hissed as he carefully dragged a wipe over the graze. “I tripped.”
“You need to be more careful,” he said, then leaned in, and started blowing on my injured skin.
Whatever I was going to say flew out of my head. His breath against my damp skin was cooling and eased the sting.
“What are you doing?” I said, my voice a little huskier than I would have liked.
“Blowing on your scraps.” He shrugged. “It’s supposed to help with the pain or some shit.” Then he carried on wiping and blowing.
I stared down at him, dumbfounded. When was the last time someone looked after me? When was the last time someone cleaned up my scrapes, or bought me Tylenol when I had a migraine, or tissues when I had a cold? I couldn’t remember. Not since my mother passed away, I knew that much. Not that she’d been that kind of mother. In the end, she’d blamed us for our father leaving, so Rebecca and I had mostly taken care of ourselves.
Suddenly, I became aware of the intimacy of it all. The quiet kitchen, the oven clock ticking softly, and the gentle way he was tending my i
njuries. The feel of his breath, cool where the wipes had been, and warm everywhere else.
I wanted to pull away, but one of his massive hands had curled around the back of my knee, holding my leg still as he cleaned it with the other. His fingers were rough and sure and his skin was hot. Those cold nights in winter, when Tilly and I first moved here with barely any money or possessions, only the few things I’d been able to fit in my car—I’d made sure Tilly was warm, given her most of the blankets and quilts. Some nights, I just couldn’t get warm. I’d bet Jude Wayland was warm all over, that you wouldn’t need blankets with him wrapped around you…over you…
“So this guy’s not your ex?” he said into the quiet.
I jolted, my face heating, like he could see where my mind had wandered. “What?”
“The guy, the one who came here tonight, he’s definitely not your ex?” he asked, still not looking up at me as he opened a Band-Aid.
I bristled. “I said he wasn’t.”
He carefully covered the first graze. “You know what he wants?”
“Nope.” Not a lie, though I did know it couldn’t be anything good, and I hoped like hell he was decent enough not to unsettle Tilly after how far she’d come. Who was I kidding? There wasn’t a decent bone in Trent’s body.
“He a loan shark? You owe money?” he asked as he moved to the other knee.
My back went straight. “What? No. I’m not that stupid.”
He was opening another Band-Aid and I snatched it from his fingers and stuck it on myself. Every damn thing came at a cost. This guy wasn’t cleaning me up out of the kindness of his heart, he wanted to make sure I wasn’t some loser magnet that would lower the tone of the street, that some asshole wasn’t going to come here and trash his precious house because I’d pissed off the wrong person. “You done with the questions?”
He stood and I did the same, trying not to wince when my scrapes smarted. No way was I letting the man loom over me. Not that me getting vertical made much difference since the guy was well over six foot.
He shrugged. “You want me to be?” he said mildly, his big body held in a relaxed way, that was anything but relaxed. The man was coiled strength and sharp intelligence.
God, his eyes went soft again and at the same time, intense. I realized suddenly, that he was asking if I needed his help. Another wallop, this time to the gut. I smothered it. As nice as it would be to dump all my worries and fears on someone else’s humongous shoulders, I knew better.
He was protecting his interests, that’s all. He didn’t care about me or Tils, why would he? He barely knew us. I’d learned repeatedly not trust easily, especially a man, with my weaknesses, my soft underbelly, because inevitably, they used it against you, or made promises they couldn’t keep, or walked, leaving you worse off than you were to start with.
I wouldn’t do that to myself, not again, and I wouldn’t do that to Tilly, ex-cop or not. And all that aside, I’d made a promise to my sister, that I would do this alone, and I would.
I didn’t need this man, any man, to rescue me.
“It’s late, I’d like you to leave,” I said, and motioned to the door.
He stood there for a few seconds, eyeballing me, then finally reached back and pulled something from his back pocket and dropped it on the table. His eyes came back to mine. “You ever get worried about anything, here’s my number.”
“I already have your number,” I bit out, sharper than I intended, just wanting him gone.
“This is my work number.” He placed the tip of one long, thick finger on it and slid it toward me. “Sometimes I can’t be reached on my cell. Call here, they’ll know how to get hold of me if it’s urgent.”
“I don’t need it,” I said, sliding it back toward him, my pulse speeding up and my hands getting sweaty for some weird reason.
“Keep it anyway.” Then with that, he turned and strode across my kitchen, down the hall, and out the door, pulling it shut softly behind him.
Before I knew I was going to do it, I was rushing to the dark living room and peering out the lace curtains, watching as he swung a long leg over his Harley and fired it to life. He eased out onto the street and a few seconds later, he was gone.
I made my way back to the kitchen, and annoyingly, unable to control my curiosity, picked up the plain white card with black writing printed on it.
The King Agency was in bold. I scanned the rest. Jude Wayland, P.I.
He was a private investigator.
I had no idea. If the guy wanted to know my story, I doubted he’d have any trouble finding out. But why would he? He had no grounds to go ferreting through my shitty background. I’d been nothing but a model tenant since I moved in. One late night douchebag banging on my door shouldn’t spark his curiosity over me and Tilly that much.
I hoped not anyway. If he found out my brother-in-law was an ex-con and a known dealer and user, our number would be up and we’d be out of here. We’d lose this sweet apartment, I had no doubt.
As I got ready for bed, I did my best to push my burly, nosey, graze-tending landlord from my mind, and after making sure the house was locked up tight and the security system was activated, I climbed into bed beside Tilly, snuggling in close to her.
This was all I needed.
Tilly and me.
I didn’t need anybody else, and neither did she.
Unfortunately, my subconscious had other ideas.
I dreamed of cold nights, strong arms, and hot, rough skin.
2
Willa
Tilly whimpered, her small hands cradling her head, tears rolling down her cheeks.
I placed a cool washcloth on her forehead, feeling so damn helpless. “I’ll be right back, baby,” I said to her and walked out to the hallway, pulling my phone from my back pocket.
My boss had kids. Surely he’d understand why I couldn’t come in tonight? I hit Alf’s number and waited. Right now, my only hope was somehow tugging on those paternal heartstrings I knew he had to have hidden under the gruff exterior, and getting the guy to sympathize with my current predicament. If not?
I was seriously screwed.
“Why are you calling me and not here serving fucking drinks?” Alf growled into the phone.
“Alf, look, I have a situation here and I’m not going to make it in tonight.”
“You better be shitting me, girl. It’s your first night doing a full shift.”
Shit. “I promise it won’t happen again, but Tilly’s sick,” I lied, and we both knew it. My niece suffered from migraines like my me and my sister both did…or had. They’d started not long after Tilly turned seven. They could be scary, especially for a little kid. This was only the third one she’d had, so unfortunately not the first time I’d called in needing time off, but Tilly needed me. “Please, Alf…”
“Willa, shit, girl….” He was quiet a few seconds, then, “Look, I like you, you’re a good waitress, but I don’t see good things in our future. You’ve got a sick kid to take care of and I need reliable staff. Sorry, honey, but I need to let you go.”
My hand shot out and I grabbed for the door frame, as all my hopes shredded and fluttered to the floor, setting themselves alight. “You can’t be serious, I promise I won’t…”
“You can’t promise shit, girl, and that’s the problem. Come by when you can and I’ll have your final check waiting.” Then he disconnected.
What the hell was I going to do? I was living week to week as it was, even with cheap rent. I’d made piss all at the bar, which meant I’d managed to save exactly nothing. Tilly whimpered again from the living room and I rushed back down to her. I’d made her a bed on the couch because listening to the TV on low gave her something to focus on besides the pain. “It’s okay, Tils, I’m here.”
She sniffed. “It hurts.”
“I know.” Tears stung the backs of my eyes. With my funds the way they were, I couldn’t afford health insurance, so filling the prescription I got when I took her to the emergency roo
m the first time she had one, wasn’t an option. My niece was suffering, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. I was failing her and failing Rebecca. All I could give her was Ibuprofen or Tylenol, and it barely took the edge off for her.
“I feel sick,” she said suddenly.
I grabbed for the bowl just in time. Maybe the Tylenol would work better if she could keep it down. Her small frame shuddered as she threw up, more tears running down her face. I held back her long, thick brown hair and rubbed her back until she finally collapsed back.
“I’ll be right back.” I rushed to the bathroom, cleaned out the bowl and rinsed two washcloths under cold water, and rushed back. I wiped her face and hands with one, then folded the second and replaced the one on her forehead. “Try and sleep, honey. I promise you’ll feel much better when you wake up.”
Her lower lip quivered. “You promise?”
My heart broke, just crumbled into a million pieces. “I promise,” I whispered, trying to keep my own tears from my voice.
After that, I curled up on the sofa with her, making sure to flip the washcloth every so often, so she always had the cool side, until she finally drifted off.
I made sure to keep my body perfectly still, so as not to wake her, but my mind was in a frenzy; so much to figure out. Without my tips, the check I got from Alf wouldn’t cover my rent and it was due tomorrow. Tilly needed medicine, and she needed it now. I’d been grocery shopping a couple days ago, so we had food for another few days if we were careful.
Christ. What was I going to do?
The text I received from Trent a week ago jumped to the front of my mind. He’d called like he said he would. His bitter voice had made my skin crawl.
“I need money and you’re going to give it to me.”
If I didn’t come up with some cash for him, he’d make things difficult for me and Tilly. He still had rights. I was Tilly’s guardian, but as her father, he could request visitation, or God, try to take her away from me.
The bastard had decided using his own daughter to get what he wanted was something he was more than okay with. He hadn’t even asked how she was. How she was coping after losing her mother and father all at once. Nothing.
Ruthless Protector (A Lawless Kings Novel Book 4) Page 2