Stiff Competition

by Micah Persell

  “About an hour ago.”

  He closed his eyes. He should have been here. Oh, God, he was going to be sick. If work hadn’t kept him late . . .

  He opened his eyes again, unsure of what he’d say to her that could possibly make up for this magnificent lapse of his, but when he focused on Cassidy’s face, new details caught his attention. There was a bruise just beginning to bloom beneath her left eye. Her lower lip was split. He choked on an exhalation of air. As tenderly as he could manage, he framed her face with both of his hands. When he touched her lip with the tip of his thumb, she winced.

  Something within him detonated.

  “Where is he?” he asked in a low, quiet voice. Gage was going to kill him. Slowly.

  Her gaze met his. “They already took him away.”

  He clenched his jaw. Damn it. He couldn’t wrap his fingers around the fucker’s throat right this second. “Did he—” His voice broke. He swallowed. “Did he hurt you . . . anywhere else?”

  For a moment, her delicate eyebrows drew together, but then they relaxed. “No,” she said softly.

  He stood frozen for a second as he absorbed her answer. He should say something but only managed a bobbing nod. Simply looking at her made the tightness in his chest abate. The rage—oh, the rage was still there. But being able to breathe again was nice.

  “And this”—she reached up and touched the corner of her eye—“this is nothing compared to what I did to him.”

  His arms tightened around her as he tried to shove his anger away in favor of what Cassidy needed right here, right now. “Is that right?” he murmured.

  She nodded. “Hope he’s had all the kids he wanted. And that shattered kneecap is gonna keep him from winning any Ironman competitions.”

  His eyes widened. Okay, maybe he didn’t need to kill this guy. “Freckles,” he said in a gravely voice, “I am so fucking proud of you right now.” He squeezed her tightly again, tucking her head beneath his chin. The rage that was always barely held at bay and resurfaced at the slightest reminder started to fade on its own for the first time in his life. Remarkable. “How’d you shatter his kneecap?”

  “The figurine of a Big Daddy on the table by the door. Turns out I’ve got a powerful backhand.”

  Gage flicked a glance toward the door, looking for the massive figurine from Bioshock—she’d had to identify the game for him a few weeks back, of course—he passed by every day. It was gone now, no doubt placed into evidence somewhere. But his memory recalled a completely metal statue with lots of wicked edges and spirals. He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Good girl.”

  He looked at the door again, expecting to see signs of forced entry. He, unfortunately, knew exactly what they would look like. He frowned. Her doorframe was completely intact. “How’d he get in?”

  She pulled back, and he reluctantly loosened his hold on her until they were able to look in each other’s eyes. “In my apartment or in the building?”

  He narrowed his eyes. In the building? He sucked in a breath. “Son of a bitch. Someone let him in, didn’t they?”

  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

  The rage came flying back. He was going to grind his molars to dust. “I’m going to kill them.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Who?”

  He gestured in a big circle with one of his arms. “All the people. Every single one.”

  “Gage,” she said softly, “everybody does it.”

  “Not anymore they don’t. I’m serious. I’m knocking on every fucking door in this building, and I’m going to—”

  “Excuse me.”

  Gage paused mid-tirade. An older gentleman in uniform stood to his left. He glanced at Gage’s arm wrapped around Cassidy’s waist and the way her tiny fists were clutched in his T-shirt. “You the boyfriend?”

  “No,” they both blurted at the same time. They dropped each other as though they’d been caught voting Republican in California.

  The officer’s eyebrows shot toward his receding hairline. “Whatever you say.” He screwed his lips together and gave them a look before continuing. “Look, we got the young lady’s statement already, but,” he shifted his attention to Cassidy, “we’ll need you to come down to the station to pick the guy out of a lineup once he’s released from the hospital. That won’t be for several days.” He smiled, seemingly to himself, and Gage felt another surge of pride that Cassidy had defended herself to such a degree. “I assume you’re pressing charges?” the officer asked.

  Gage bit his tongue around the fuck yes he wanted to yell.

  “Fuck yes, I am,” Cassidy said, tilting her chin up.

  He couldn’t help himself. He sidled closer and slid his arm around her waist again, giving her a small squeeze.

  The officer noticed the move and seemed to be struggling not to roll his eyes. He extended a business card to Cassidy. “Then I’ll see you soon. Feel free to contact me at any time with questions. Good night, you two.” He looked at the way Gage held Cassidy one more time, shook his head, then made his exit.

  It wasn’t until he closed the door behind him that Gage noticed all the other officers had left, too.

  Cassidy strode across the apartment, her pace slightly urgent, and flipped the deadbolt.

  Something in his chest clenched. The intruder must have gotten in before she’d been able to do that earlier.

  She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the closed door. As she stayed that way for several seconds, he took a hesitant step toward her, but before he could take another, she spun around.

  “So,” she said with a forced smile. She shrugged. “Wanna fuck?”

  Did he flinch? His face certainly did something that felt like it. But then he noticed the slightly wild and wide look to her eyes, and everything he was feeling drained out of him: all the rage, all the worry, all the memories. Everything except for one persistent feeling that he wasn’t sure he was ready to examine.

  There was no hesitation this time. As he approached, her eyes grew wider. By the time he reached her, they had a glassy sheen to them. “No, I don’t,” he whispered.

  She tilted her head a bit. “Gage, don’t—” She swallowed hard. “I can’t—”

  He took mercy on her. “I’m sleeping over tonight.”

  She closed her mouth. Her lips thinned, and then she said, “I don’t get a say in this?”

  He reached for her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “Sure you do.” He raised his eyebrows, all Well?

  She blew out a breath. “Okay.”

  That hadn’t been hard at all. He stroked her hand again as her gaze roved over her apartment, her nose wrinkling. For the first time since he’d met her, the move did not charm him in any way.

  She was changed. Her home was no longer the safe haven she’d always imagined it would be.

  To say he’d grown up in a poor neighborhood would be optimistic. Whatever his parents could afford in rent after they’d used most of their unreliable income to pay for the quickest thing they could snort up their noses had amounted to a one-bedroom apartment they’d shared with hundreds of cockroach roommates.

  The break-ins had been numerous and frequent in their apartment building filled with tenants who’d all seemed to participate in one vice or another. And when one of the police investigations had been shockingly thorough, the small bit his parents hadn’t used yet had been spotted. He’d been in foster care that night. And back with his parents a few days later. And back in foster care the next time his parents slipped up. And moved from foster home to foster home as he quickly aged out of the desirable adoption age and then turned into a rebel on purpose so the constant rejection was for a good reason instead of the shit he regularly faced . . .

  He shook his head. His past could go fuck itself. Right now, he was here for Cassidy.

  He pulled his phone from his back pocket, maintaining his grip on her fingers with his other hand. Like he’d intended, her gaze traveled from its troubled perusal of her inv
aded space to his face, her brows drawing together in question.

  He held his phone up. “Tonight, we pick out an alarm system, okay? And I’m putting more locks on this door in the next 24 hours.”

  Cassidy frowned. “But I’m a renter—”

  “I don’t fucking care. I’ll drill whatever holes I want, and if the landlord makes the mistake of saying anything about it, we’ll be having a discussion about how his lax security allowed one of his tenants to be assaulted.”

  Her lips formed an O. She peered at him as though she didn’t know who he was, and for a moment, he struggled to become the Gage he’d long ago decided he would be: the one who gave no fucks about anything or anyone. The Gage she’d been acquainted with for the past months.

  But he quickly gave up that struggle. He just didn’t have the energy right now, and he was tired. Tomorrow, after a full night’s sleep, he’d try again. For now, he’d indulge himself in some rare emotion.

  He leaned down and pressed a swift kiss to her lips. They were cold and unmoving beneath his, and he had to fight to keep from wrapping her in his arms again. Instead, he tugged her by the hand down the hall.

  He’d never been in her bedroom even once in the dozens of times he’d been in her apartment. But he knew where it was, and that was the direction he headed now. He reached around the doorway and flipped on the light.

  A Spartan, queen-sized bed draped with a boring, navy blue comforter occupied one wall, standing beneath a gigantic print of a world map from a game even he could recognize: the original Zelda. A dresser rested against the wall to the right, and across from the bed, beneath the room’s one window, stood the only piece of furniture that reflected some intention: a sturdy, spacious desk weighted down beneath the brightly shining lamp connected to the light switch, an Alienware laptop, and myriad pads of paper.

  He pulled her to the center of the room and turned to face her. She was nibbling on her lower lip, her eyes clouded and occupied with troubling thoughts. He jiggled her hand, and her gaze snapped to his. “Where are your pajamas?”

  She blinked several times and then nodded toward the dresser with her chin. “Bottom drawer on the right.”

  He squeezed her hand before releasing it. “Be right back,” he said, as though she was going to lose it in the two seconds it took him to walk across the room. He almost shook his head at himself, but the memory of how her fingers had flinched against his as he’d withdrawn his hand, as though she couldn’t bear to lose the contact, stayed the motion. Losing it was a distinct possibility. For them both.

  He pulled open the drawer and immediately paused. Gage saw a lot in his line of work. Every woman he was around wanted to feel sexy, and a lot of times that manifested itself in skimpy lingerie.

  He loved lingerie.

  However, as he trailed his fingers over a tank top depicting a unicorn flipping a middle finger, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d pictured a woman in something and been as stimulated by it as he was by this simple, ratty tank.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  He shook his head and lifted the unicorn shirt along with the matching shorts he found beneath it. Shoving the drawer back into place, he pushed to his feet and made his way back to Cassidy.

  In the seconds he’d been gone, she’d drifted away again, staring off into space with her eyebrows crashing together while she nibbled on her bottom lip.

  He cradled her cheek in his palm and pulled her lip from her teeth with his thumb. Her gaze skated lethargically over to his, and he could tell she was still focusing on what had happened to her tonight.

  Of course, she is, idiot. Unfortunately, she would be for a long time to come. This wasn’t something you shook off.

  “Arms up, Gamer Girl,” he muttered.

  She blinked once but then seemed to understand what he’d said, obediently and wordlessly lifting her arms.

  He would bet a million dollars she had never obediently and wordlessly done anything in her entire life, and he renewed his vow to find the bastard who had done this tonight and beat him senseless.

  He set her pj’s down on the bed behind her, then pulled her shirt up and off. As he absently folded it, his gaze narrowed in on her bra. Had he ever seen her wear one? She was always braless by the time he made his way to her apartment.

  It was a simple, white cotton bra. No lining. No push-up. Her freckles stood out in contrast to it, and before he could tell his wayward body to get control of itself, his mouth was watering for her.

  He gritted his teeth and shoved the unwelcome thoughts aside. Reaching around her back, he undid the clasp and slid the bra from her shoulders.

  Her nipples puckered in the cool air of the room, and Gage had to give himself a little shake again.

  What the hell? These feelings he had as he looked at her—they weren’t based in lust. Although, lust was definitely present. No, it was stronger than that. More compelling.

  More alarming than anything he’d ever felt.

  He snatched the tank top and pulled it over her head, blocking her topless body from view. By rote, Cassidy threaded her arms through the sleeves, and he pulled the hem down to her hips, smoothing his palms over her slight curves in a way that was entirely unnecessary.

  He unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down her legs. She silently lifted one foot at a time for him as he pulled her pants free. She wore slouched knee socks beneath them with a repeating pattern of narwhals all over them.

  He tugged them up for her until they just reached the delicate bones of her knee, then he had her step into the pj shorts and pulled them into place.

  Throughout the entire process, she’d made not a sound. Hadn’t moved except for the ways he’d wordlessly asked her to.

  For some reason, he just wanted to hug her. Pull her into his arms, release a heavy sigh into her hair, and hold on to her until his stomach stopped hurting so badly and all these fucking, confusing feelings went away.

  He indulged himself a bit, allowing a small hug, which he abruptly ended before he could get carried away.

  Sliding his hands down her arms until he could wind his fingers with hers, he said, “Into bed with you.”

  She nodded, withdrew her hands from his, and turned toward the bed. He pulled the covers down, and she slid between them, resting her head on the pillow and staring without blinking up at the ceiling.

  His jaw started to ache. Grinding my teeth together again. He drew a deep breath, forced all his clenched muscles to relax, and began shedding his clothes as quickly and efficiently as possible.

  When he was naked, he slid in next to her and pulled the blankets over them.

  She didn’t look his way, and he got the impression she wasn’t entirely aware he’d even gotten into bed with her.

  Turning to his side, he reached for her. “Come here.”

  She came into his arms with all the pliancy of a wooden plank, but once he wrapped his arms around her and her head settled beneath his chin, she released a shuddering sigh, and all the tension drained out of her muscles.

  “That’s right,” he said, smoothing a palm up and down her back. He wove the fingers of his other hand through her hair, massaging her scalp with them.

  She shuddered again. “Today sucked.”

  He nodded. “Yep.”

  “My thoughts.” She pressed her nose against his throat. “I’m going crazy here.”

  He brushed his cheek against her hair, little strands of it getting caught in his bristly jaw. “Yep,” he said again. “The good news is, it gets easier.”

  She pulled back and looked up at him, her eyes focused for the first time tonight. Her gaze was piercing, and she was silent for longer than he was comfortable with. He shifted against her and she dropped her gaze.

  “You know about it getting easier?” she asked in a whisper.

  He swallowed hard, preparing to deflect. “Since I was a kid.” He nearly jolted. That had not been deflecting, that had been truth.

  She stiffene
d. “Since you were a kid?”

  “Freckles,” he sighed. “Tonight is not about me.”

  “It could be.” She snuggled close to him again, but he continued to feel her gaze burning his face. “I don’t mind.”

  He shook his head, shaken by how much he longed to take her up on her offer. Gage didn’t divulge information. Ever. “Nope. If we’re going to talk, it’s going to be about you.”

  She made an odd noise he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “No, thank you.”

  He frowned. She needed to talk. Didn’t she see that? “Cassidy—”

  “Look.” She shifted against him. “I just want to sleep, okay? It will all be better in the morning.”

  No, it wouldn’t. He knew it wouldn’t be better for a long time and that tonight would probably haunt her for the rest of her life. But he wasn’t about to argue with her after all she’d been through.

  “Of course,” he murmured. “Whatever you want.”

  “Good then.”

  It grew quiet in the room, though he knew her thoughts were anything but. Despite that fact, however, he found his eyelids drooping in the aftereffects of waning adrenaline. Several times, his blinks were longer than normal and he had to jerk his eyes open again. He never fell asleep with a woman. Had never wanted to. Right now, he wanted to more than anything, but, he needed to stay up for her. Be awake when she inevitably realized she needed to talk about this.

  Her breathing evened out, however, and after several minutes of valiantly fighting the battle, the next time he blinked for a long time, he relaxed and let sleep come.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The breathing exercises weren’t working. Cassidy persisted in drawing in one slow, deep breath at a time, but she could feel the panic rising.

  She could have died.

  She could have been raped.

  She could have killed him if she’d hit him in a different spot.