Hard & Lethal: A Bad Boy Romance

by Jade Allen

  ****

  Damian tried hard to come into work the next day, but he couldn’t get further than his doorstep. Everything in his apartment reminded him of Becca, even though they’d only been seeing each other a month: a keychain from the Museum of Modern Art; a finger trap they’d gotten caught in before the first night he dipped his tongue between her legs; a t-shirt she’d danced around in after finding out she had one more vacation day she could take this month. That day, they’d stayed in his bed and eaten pizza while watching movies and kissing the breath from each other’s lungs. Her hair left a scent on his pillow each night, no matter how long she laid her head on the case, and he breathed her in while he had slept.

  By the third day, he was dodging calls as well as concerned emails, shutting down all queries with a single, artful word. Some of the customers wanted monetary restitution—would he make a statement?

  No.

  The shareholders wanted to be reassured that nothing out of sorts was going on at IQID. Would he send an email?

  No.

  A new employee has been hired, can he sign off on the forms?

  No.

  Was he okay?

  No.

  The ache after the initial pain was somehow worse than the sting itself. Damian couldn’t believe how hollow he felt, like a straw had just been pulled from his back. Even after the end of the first week, he couldn’t feel anything stronger than mild annoyance; then, one day, he broke a mug Becca had given him. Instead of being upset, he’d gotten angry, and he’d stayed angry since—though sometimes the bubbling rage cooled to a gently meandering acidic river. He poured his energy into pure loathing: of the mailman, of the birds outside, of bicycle bells; even a delivered lemon tart wasn’t exempt from the irrational hatred that kept him up at night. The only place his hatred never ended up was around the thought of Becca.

  He never considered why because he never directly thought about Becca. Damian forced himself to think of other things, and it worked splendidly—until it didn’t anymore, and he was lost in a pit of despair again. One night he made the mistake of wandering around the city and ended up that dive bar where he first met Becca. Against his better judgement, he even went in.

  Everything was exactly the same. It gave him more than comfort, and Damian signaled for a Fat Tire as he settled into the same stool. The room was just as empty as before, which wasn’t surprising, because it was a Wednesday morning. The bartender eyed him as he handed over his credit card, and he felt the stubble on his jaw as she plucked it from his fingers. He felt a flash of hatred for her, but it was half-hearted. Hate Becca, he told himself. Why don’t you hate Becca?

  The answer was simple: love. Damian had never been so in love with someone in his life, and part of him was happy to stay head-over-heels for her as long as he’d let himself. The other part of him was tired of being walked on, though, and it was hard and unyielding inside him. But what had that part gotten him since he’d developed it? Nothing, he realized. In fact, it had lost him more than anything else. He’d just had a chance at an incredible love, and it had withered away because he didn’t want to forgive. Damian gulped his beer, tears burning the backs of his eyes as he realized he may never have another chance.

  “Bad beer?”

  Damian nearly choked. Becca was standing beside him, holding a glass of Fat Tire out to him with her brown eyes held wide and careful. He started to rise and leave, but the hope in her eyes was too fresh to kill. I’ll hear her out, he decided. Though nothing can fix this.

  Becca sat on the stool and stared at her hands for a moment. Damian felt another flash of hatred, but this time for himself—he wanted to kiss her already, and she hadn’t even begun speaking.

  When she did, it didn’t get better. She raised her eyes to his, and a ripple of need passed through him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t say it enough. I’m so sorry. But I have to tell you—I never lied about anything else.”

  Damian snorted. “Right.”

  Becca winced. “I deserve that, but I’m telling you the truth,” she said urgently. “And I think I’ve figured out how to show you.”

  She pulled something from her purse and set it on the bar, sliding it over for him to examine under the dim light. Damian saw that it was a laminated identification badge for her newspaper. His thoughts descended into a confused chaos, but his heart pounded in acknowledgement of what this must mean.

  “I quit,” Becca said. “And before you say anything…I didn’t quit for you. I hated my job anyway, you know that. I would have quit if a better job offer came up.”

  Damian smiled. “But?”

  Becca smiled back. “But…I did quit because of you. Because you reminded me that I can be passionate about things, and love things with all of my being. You taught me that I’m still alive, so I should be living…and that starts with love.” She placed one hand on his, and the warmth made him ecstatic. “You made me rediscover what it felt like. Even if you don’t forgive me…thank you. I can go chase my dreams now. I feel like my heart was clogged, and you snaked the drain.” Becca blushed as she finished speaking and dropped her eyes. “Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. You don’t have to talk to me anymore.”

  Damian watched her study the glass of beer before her, brown eyes anxiously tracking the bubbles as they zipped around the glass. A part of him wanted to leave—just turn around and walk out of Becca’s life, never to see her again. It wouldn’t be hard to avoid her with the amount of money he had—but it would be hard on his heart. It was clenching even as he watched her frown, just knowing she was unhappy; Damian desperately wanted to kiss away her tension and sadness until she laughed like the first night he met her. Could he forgive her after her betrayal? Could he love unguarded again?

  Damian made several decisions at once. He drank the rest of his beer and set down a tip for the bartender before he turned to Becca. She gazed at him hopefully, the warmth in her honey brown eyes heating him to his core.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “There’s only one way I’ll forgive you.”

  Becca’s hopeful smile faltered.

  “If we’re going to be together, we need to work as a team—and this team likes kayaking. I have a little house in Maine that’s right on a river; I know you’re afraid of deep water because of your little mermaid stint, but I need you to at least try for me.”

  The smile that spread across Becca’s face was infectious. He was grinning as she leapt into his arms, and Damian stood and spun her around as her arching laughter filled the darkened bar. The patrons shot them dirty looks as they celebrated, but neither Damian nor Becca noticed—they were far too comfortable in their steely bubble of new love. One of the yellowed lamps above them fizzled and blew out, but their lips touched as the bulb darkened; Damian’s heart pounded in his chest, heavy with joy in the realization that Becca’s love brought him the key to feeling like a real person again. He was never letting her go.

  THE END

  Ravaged: A Menage

  A fun little bonus just in time for the Halloween season…

  Madison raked her fingers back through her hair and stared at the computer screen, reading through the email again just to make sure that she had understood the message. She gave a short laugh when she realized that she had, indeed, read it correctly and that the people who sent it were absolutely serious about their offer.

  It had been less than a week since her grandmother had left her the sprawling mansion on the hill at the edge of town, but she was already having a paranormal group asking permission to do an investigation. She wasn't sure if she should be offended at their hastiness, or feel bad that they had nothing better to do with their careers than cruise the obituaries and real estate logs waiting to pounce on whoever inherited the next creepy old house.

  Going through the email one more time just for good measure, Madison reached across the desk to pick up her phone. She dialed her best friend and didn't bother to wait for a greeting.

  "What do
you know about Noah Hix?" she asked as soon as she heard the click that indicated Dianna had picked up the phone.

  "Hi, Madison. Are you feeling better?"

  "Yes, yes, yes. Hello, I'm alive, my grandmother still isn't, but there are silver linings and rainbows after the storm in my future. What do you know about Noah Hix?"

  "Mourning doesn't do good things for you."

  "Does mourning usually do good things for people, Dianna?"

  There was a long pause and Madison could almost see the expression on her best friend's face as the question churned through the gears in her mind.

  "No."

  "Ok, then. What do you know about Noah Hix?"

  The truth was Madison wouldn't really describe herself as being "in mourning". She hadn't seen her grandmother in months after her condition disintegrated so far that she didn't even resemble the woman Madison had always known, and in that time she had already had the opportunity to mourn her. Her death was just a formality and by the time it happened, Madison had already worked through all of the emotions and accepted it.

  "You mean the gorgeous paranormal investigator?"

  "I'm assuming that's the one."

  "He has his own web show where he goes to haunted locations and does paranormal investigations and then posts the evidence. It's really fascinating. Why do you want to know?"

  Dianna's voice had gone from dreamy to confused between the two sentences. She knew that Madison was the consummate skeptic when it came to anything having to do with the paranormal.

  "It seems that Mr. Hix and his team want to do an investigation at Grandma's old house. Apparently there have been legends lurking around the place for the last couple centuries and they have been trying to set up an investigation for years, but Grandma would never give them the time of day."

  "So they're contacting you hoping for a different response?"

  "Evidently. I guess they've been cyber-stalking the house and found out that Grandma died and left it to me so they decided they would swoop in and try again."

  "That seems…tacky. Are you going to do it?"

  Madison sighed. She had clicked through the link at the bottom of the email that connected her to the website of the group and was browsing through some of the images. There seemed to be an abundance of vaguely humanlike shadows and doors standing partially open, but with dramatic captions that told her whoever posted the pictures had apparently read far more into the pictures.

  "I'm not sure. I mean, if Grandma didn't want them doing it, I'm sure she had her reasons."

  "I doubt it. Grandma didn't have to have a reason for anything. She'd refuse a package delivery for something she ordered just for the fun of it."

  "That's true. I guess I'm just torn. You know how I feel about all of this paranormal stuff."

  "That it's bull-honkey?"

  "I don't think that's a phrase I would ever use to describe it, but yes, that's the basic idea."

  "Actually, that's the exact phrase you used. I wrote it down. September 17, Madison talking about paranormal investigations…bull…honkey."

  "That's written on your calendar?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, I'm glad to know you're chronicling my life in such detail."

  "Only the outlying moments. I'm keeping track to screen for early-onset Alzheimer's."

  "Dianna, just because your neighbor said one weird thing, you said she had Alzheimer's, and it turned out that she actually did does not mean that that’s how it always works out. Anyway," Madison lifted her voice a little to try to regain control of the conversation, "The point is that this Noah guy wants to meet with me to discuss filming at the house for his Halloween special, and I think I might be considering it."

  "But I thought it was all bull-honkey?"

  "Bull-honkey aside, they are offering to pay me to rent the place out for three days and to appear with them in their evidence video."

  "Ooo! Hello sexy ghost hunter, goodbye student loan debt."

  "Exactly my thought process."

  They chatted for a few more minutes before Madison hung up the phone and turned her attention fully to the website on her computer screen. The investigator certainly was beautiful, she couldn't deny that. She just wasn't sure all the bad-ass black clothing in the world and even eyes and lips that could probably charm the panties right off the ghosts of the schoolmarms that once taught at her grandmother's mansion could make her get over the ridiculousness of the concept of a paranormal investigation.

  ****

  "I don't think I can do this."

  It was the next day and Dianna was sitting in front of Madison's computer, clicking slowly through the pictures on the paranormal investigation website.

  "Why not?"

  "Have you seen the so-called 'evidence' that they've posted? There are about 30 videos of creaking floorboards, another 30 of windows being pushed open by the wind, and at least two of what I'm fairly certain are reflections of wayward Halloween decorations in vanity mirrors."

  "I will admit those are not the most compelling."

  "But he's freaking out about them like he just watched a ghost walk by in its underwear brushing its teeth."

  "He may be a little excitable, but you're missing the most important element all of these evidence videos have in common."

  "And what's that?"

  Dianna spun the computer around to face Madison and pointed at a still image of Noah, his face turned just enough to the camera so that a strand of his dark hair fell across one shockingly blue eye.

  "He's so damn pretty. Look how pretty he is."

  Dianna stroked her fingers along the screen like she was petting Noah's head and gazed at him like she was about two seconds away from licking him.

  "Ok, that's enough," Madison said, pulling the computer away from her.

  "I don't understand why you are being so difficult about this."

  "I'm not being difficult, I just don't want my grandmother's house turned into some freak show and me edited so that I look like some screaming imbecile because a mouse sneezed and set off the motion activated cameras."

  "So let me go. I'll be you and run around investigating with the boys, and you won't have to worry about it anymore."

  "I don't think that's going to work out."

  "Why not?"

  "What was my grandmother's name?"

  Dianna hesitated.

  "Grandma…?"

  She looked at the picture closer and sighed.

  "He is gorgeous."

  "And?"

  "And it would be nice to be able to pay off my student loans and not have to continue pretending I don't exist between the hours of 9 AM and 6 PM, or 9 PM when they switch it up and have the west coast office call me."

  "And?" Dianna's voice had risen to an almost frightening pitch.

  "And I’m going to let him investigate my freaking house."

  "Yay!"

  "But only, only, if they agree to accept that I am a skeptic and that they will not edit me to look like anything else."

  Madison fired off an email back to Noah, agreeing to meet at the house to discuss the project, and closed her computer, leaning over to rest her head on it. This was going to be a long weekend.

  ****

  Two days later, Madison drove slowly up the winding driveway toward her grandmother's mansion. The crunching of the gravel beneath the tires was familiar and she felt herself smiling as she remembered all the times she had heard that same sound when she arrived for visits with her grandmother when she was a child, and then when she moved in with her when she was a teenager. It was a sound of comfort and of coming home.

  Her private musings were cut short as her car crested the final swell of the hill and found the small patch of grass at the back of the house already crowded with people. Several people were milling around looking out over the view of the city beneath, and one man was teetering precariously on a cinderblock trying to peek into one of the windows positioned high off of the ground.

 
She climbed out of her car and shut the door hard enough that the sound brought the attention of everyone in the yard. A few looked uncomfortable and Madison wondered just how angry her expression was as she stood there watching them make themselves at home. Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone approach and turned to face him. Stunning blue eyes stared back at her and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

  "Hi, I'm Noah."

  His voice was a dark and smooth as she would have expected, it to be, and held the slightest whisper of an accent that she couldn't quite place. She hadn't noticed it in any of the videos, and she thought she may have made her decision to go through with the video a bit quicker if she had. He didn’t smile at her and she sensed a bit of tension in his presence.

  "Madison," she said, taking the hand he offered and shaking it, "I see you all got here promptly at twenty minutes earlier than the time we agreed to meet."

  Now that she had gotten over the initial shock of being face to face with the beautiful man, the frustration at being denied a few minutes of time to herself to assimilate to the strange feeling of being back at the house after so long and to come to terms with the situation was bubbling out of her.

  "We like to get started on time."

  "I can see that." She glanced over at the house, "Who's that?"

  "That's Jesse, the other investigator on the team."

  The man standing on the cinderblock had gone completely still as if trying to blend in with the house. When he heard his name, he waved over his shoulder in her direction, and then turned slowly to face her.

  "Hi. I'm sorry. It's a really great house."

  He smiled at her, puppy-dog eyes staring hopefully from under shaggy brown hair. The effect was a softer, more innocent attractiveness than Noah that immediately disarmed her. She felt the anger slide out of her when she saw the excitement in his eyes and realized that it was time to let go of her defensiveness and anger, and allow the team to enjoy the space that obviously meant something to them.