Dangerous (Wicked Hearts Book 2)

by Sara Cate

Ruby sobs at the foot of the bed, rubbing Hazel’s leg over the heavy blanket. Savannah sniffs behind me, and Ryder stands quietly in the doorway.

  Nothing in the room really changes. She’s just gone. No more awake or asleep than she was a minute ago, but now her chest doesn’t move and her heavy breathing doesn’t fill the silence.

  After a few minutes, mostly letting the ladies get out their tears and their last goodbyes, the hospice nurse comes back in to do some last minute checks.

  It’s all too real.

  I need a drink.

  Leaving the rest of them behind, I rush into the living room and don’t stop until I reach the bar. I swallow down two shots of whiskey and ignore my throat’s screams for water.

  After the third shot, I start to feel that blissful haze that softens the rough edges of reality. It numbs away some of that pain that is slowly creeping in. The pain that reminds me that I’m even more alone than I was before—which was still pretty fucking alone.

  I should say something to the little pair of eyes watching me from the kitchen, but I don’t. What the fuck would I even have to say to a kid right now? Like I’d have some sage advice for her.

  There’s a clink of glasses next to me. Savannah fills her glass even higher than I do, but she drinks bourbon, Hazel’s favorite. She must have taught her well.

  Unlike me, Savannah stops at two. And she follows it up with a glass of water.

  Her gaze on my face feels like fire on my skin. Then her hand touches my arm, and I flinch.

  I don’t want comforting right now. Not companionship or support. I don’t need someone to help me feel better. What I need is an escape or a distraction, and so far, this whiskey is not cutting it.

  I can’t watch them take her body. It’s all too real for me, so I leave Ruby and Ryder to handle that while I keep Murph company on the patio.

  He’s a live wire about to explode.

  He can’t sit still, won’t talk in complete sentences, and snaps at every question I ask.

  The worst part is that I feel even more drawn to him than before. Even after that little outburst last night—or was that two days ago—I have to fight the urge to climb up onto his lap and kiss his anxiety away.

  He won’t look me in the eye. In fact, he hasn’t looked anyone in the eye since she passed. Granted it’s only been an hour, but I feel like if he struggles alone in his head, he’ll only get worse.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask, keeping my voice calm and flat.

  “No.”

  “Maybe I should order something for everyone else? How long before people start bringing over casseroles?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

  He doesn’t move, only keeps his eyes trained on the ocean waves lit only by the full moon.

  “Murph,” I say, reaching for his arm, letting my fingers rest against the dark tattoos that stretch across his forearm.

  “I need another drink.” He jumps up just as my skin makes contact.

  “No, you don’t.” His words are starting to slur, and it takes a lot to get a guy his size drunk, so I know he’s had way too much. I don’t need him getting ridiculous tonight, not with Ryder’s daughter here. A death is enough for one day.

  I follow him to the bar, and put myself between him and the counter. The moment his gaze meets mine, something explodes in my chest. I want to cry and scream and punch him and screw him all at the same time. He has himself so completely tormented and twisted that I’m convinced I can kiss him back to normal.

  He feels it too because he presses his hips against mine while holding my stare.

  “You don’t need another drink.” The mumble escapes my lips.

  “You don’t know what I need,” he answers.

  In the moonlight, his green eyes practically shine, and I feel myself tempted to reach up and run my finger along the edge of his lips, hidden behind his thick beard.

  “Yes, I do,” I breathe, feeling utterly insane for even implying something so...dirty. Someone we both love just died, her body was just removed from the house, and I feel his pain, like I feel my own, and all I want to do is find the pleasure hidden beneath it.

  His fingers reach out and dig into my hip. “You sure about that?”

  I’m unsettled by how sure I am. My body is alive with this need for him. Is it the healthiest form of grieving? Not at all, but I want it. I don’t want to be alone for one more second.

  So I reach up and grab the back of his neck, kissing him roughly. He growls into my mouth, pulling my weight off the floor and against his body.

  Approaching voices from the kitchen break us apart, but Murph doesn’t wait for them to find us. He pulls me toward the bedrooms in a rush, practically dragging me behind him.

  My mind is silent, pushing away any thoughts of caution. There is only emotion at the moment, and it’s need.

  The looming empty bedroom waits for us, like a beacon. And the moment we cross the threshold, I feel how it offers us freedom. Relief. Here, we are alone and can be anything we want, without expectation or presumption.

  He feels it too because the second we are alone, the door slams closed behind us, and he pulls my body to his, lifting me off my feet again. He breathes me in, burying his face in my neck, and I wrap my arms around him so tight I dread ever letting go.

  When his lips find mine again, it’s a catalyst. Our fingers move deftly toward the hem of each other’s shirts. He pulls mine off in one quick motion. I quickly do the same with his. I never even feel him fumble with the clasp of my bra before it’s falling from my arms. The sensation of his chest against mine is enough to make me gasp in anticipation. It’s like that moment in the tattoo shop all over again. This human contact I’ve deprived myself of this past year is now heightened, and Murph’s body is like an overdose.

  He carries me over to the bed and lays me down, a little more gently than this frantic, desperate moment would expect. But then he’s on the button of my jeans, pulling them down so fast, I let out a gasp. His are off the next moment, along with his boxers because I feel the smooth, rock hard erection against my thigh as he leans down to run his lips and tongue over the skin of my breasts.

  Feeling him so close to where I want him has me feeling crazy with lust. I thrust my hips up toward him, hoping he’ll hurry and remove the last piece of clothing between us.

  A distant warning in my brain tries to tell me this is moving too fast, but I don’t care. I can’t listen to that right now because I know he feels the same. There is no grief in this space. No loneliness or fear of what’s to come. There is only his fingers on my skin, moving slowly down to the hem of my underwear and my writhing body waiting for him to own me.

  I’m lost in a haze of desire when I hear him rustle the side table drawer and unwrap the condom, and it feels like only a moment later before his weight covers my body, enveloping me in a way that says comfort and safety. His lips are on mine again, and another loud moan escapes my lips as he dives deep between my legs, latching our bodies together.

  He growls, sinking in so deep I can barely breathe, and he pulls back, sending his weight back down on me, hard. My head spins with pleasure. This sense of fulfillment has my skin erupting in goosebumps. I want more of him. All of him.

  I swear my heart is about to beat itself out of my chest.

  We are lost in a fury of hot breath, deep thrusts, and toe-curling moans. When I wrap my legs around Murph’s broad hips, I try to ease him in faster, deeper. I can feel him letting up, but I don’t want him holding back. I want it all.

  “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he groans into my mouth.

  His deep voice reverberates through me. I’m practically levitating, lifting my hips to meet his thrusts as we both grip each other a little tighter, losing ourselves in this insane, fucked up moment.

  I’m too distracted by biting back my own screams to feel him come. But when my vision starts to clear and my heart slows down to a normal pace, there is only silence and our desperate breathing.

  When
he finally rests his weight on me, I run my fingers along the beads of sweat gathering on his back. Clarity slowly returns, but I shove it away, just trying to enjoy the sweet silence after such a passionate explosion. I know it’s returning for him too. He’s avoiding my gaze and letting his lips graze my neck and shoulders.

  The reality of what looms outside those doors can’t stay locked out for long, but at least we’re safe in here.

  There is no light coming through the window curtains when I finally open my eyes. Savannah is breathing quietly next to me, turned away and curled up in a way that looks like she’s defending herself. I want to uncurl her body, pull her into my arms, and ignore everything else.

  But there are footsteps down the hallway. And my throat burns like I swallowed nails today. The only thing I want more than Savannah’s body against mine is water and only because I need it to survive.

  I roll away, leaving the warmth of the bed and pull on a pair of boxers that were left on the floor. Taking one last glance at the girl in my bed, I replay the events of last night. The feel of her full hips in my hands, the scent of her shampoo, the way she shuddered when I trailed kisses across her stomach.

  I need to walk away before I say, ‘fuck the water,’ and climb back in between her legs.

  The house is silent. Too silent.

  I can’t help it, but when I pass her room for the bathroom, I pause in front of Hazel’s closed bedroom door. It feels like she’s still in there, sleeping and peaceful. I did the same thing when Theo died. We were roommates when Rafe found him on the floor. After that day, I never passed his bedroom without seeing him in there.

  It never goes away.

  The sound of glass being set on the counter draws my attention to the kitchen.

  Ryder is standing in the dimly lit great room, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. Seeing this aged version of him still throws me. He was always so vibrant. He was the kid who took almost nothing seriously, did his best to get on everyone's nerves, and caused trouble wherever and whenever he could.

  Back then, I despised him.

  I was fresh out of the Army and back at Wicked. He was still a kid, only nineteen. I couldn’t stand to be around him, mostly because he always seemed to be laughing at a joke I wasn’t in on. And didn’t want to be.

  When he left, I couldn’t have been happier. Except for the fact that Hazel begged him to stay. I remember her asking me to give him a job in my shop, and I couldn’t say fuck no fast enough. The disappointment in her face would stick with me for years, as if I was the one leaving. I was the one pushing him away when it was her that finally gave him access to his little trust fund, and he couldn’t wait to go blow it in Vegas.

  He wasn’t even her kid. He had his own mom, but Ryder was just another one of Hazel’s little pet projects, the one that did not turn out the way she wanted.

  I briefly wondered if I did.

  “Drink?” he asks as I step into the room. He’s already pouring a second three-finger glass. Raising my hand up, I pass by and grab a glass of water instead.

  “Water first.”

  Ryder shrugs and sets the second glass down.

  “Are we going to talk like adults now?” he asks. He leans against the bar and watches me. Again, I don’t answer him, only rolling my eyes at his sideways accusation.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. How’s the shop then?”

  “Business is good.” After the full glass of cold water goes down, my throat aches less but still feels like I’m swallowing sandpaper with every breath. “Why? You looking for a job?” It’s my way of teasing him, showing him once again that I’m not the fuck-up. It’s a cruel game we play, but he’ll jump in when the time is right.

  “I was never the one who asked.”

  “I know. You never did like to work for your money.”

  “Why do you have to be such an asshole?” My head flips up to see the serious look in his eye. He is being sincere, and I am not used to it. He was supposed to quip back with another jab for me, but he doesn’t.

  “I’m the asshole?” I ask, slamming my glass down a little too hard. “I’m the one who stayed.”

  “Did she ever ask you to?” Now he’s ready to play, knives out.

  “If she had, I would have.”

  “Has anyone ever asked you to stay?” he says as he steps away from the wall, walking across the kitchen, closer to where I’m standing. I’m not in the mood to get in a tussle, but a little fist across the jaw sure would ease some of this pent up tension.

  “Oh fuck off, Ryder.”

  He stops. “No, you fuck off, Murph. Go back to your tattoo shop and be a miserable dick for the rest of your life.”

  “Oh, I will. Unlike you, I don’t need to stick around for the will to be read.”

  “Then, why are you here? The only person who could stand you is gone.”

  He steps closer until we are only a foot apart, both our chests puffed out at each other, fists balled.

  Ryder points a finger at my chest. “And I see what you’re doing with the new girl. She doesn’t deserve to be fucked and forgotten.”

  “At least I had the good sense to wrap it up first,” I snap back, and I can sense he’s about to punch me. There’s a change in the air when you know someone is about to throw a swing, and if I’m being honest, I want him to. I push his buttons on purpose because I want Ryder to throw the first punch. It gives me a good reason to finally knock him to the ground.

  But he hesitates. I can see the flinch in his stance, like he’s about to lay into me, but he stops.

  Instead, he steps closer, putting his nose close to mine. His words come out in a bitter spitting accusation. “The only person that connected us is gone. We are not family. You are not my brother. As soon as business is settled here, you can go back to your miserable fucking life, and I’ll never have to see you again.”

  “Can’t fucking wait,” I respond just as he steps back and I pass him. On my way to the bedroom, I grab the drink he poured and down it in one swig. I can feel his eyes on my back as I disappear down the hallway.

  His words sting, but I have no fucking clue why. I don't want anything to do with Ryder anymore than he wants anything to do with me. We never were brothers, not really. But his perception of me as a miserable loner puts a sour sting in my gut. If he had a life half as bad as mine, he’d think twice about judging me. He has no clue what I’ve been through.

  Savannah stirs when I walk in the room. The light glow on the window signals the coming sunrise, and I didn’t want her to get out of bed. I can’t stand the thought of her leaving.

  So when she tries to get up, I settle my weight between her legs and kiss her deep and hard. She lets out a sweet whimper as I cup her breast in my hand and squeeze it, hoping the feel of her pleasure will erase all of my anger. I need to wipe away this sting from that conversation.

  Without pulling my mouth off of Savannah’s, I shift my sweatpants down and slide into her. She gasps and wraps her legs around my hips, pulling me closer.

  Savannah’s body welcomes me, soothes my pain, offers me the comfort I crave. When I pick up the speed of my thrusts, I feel her shudder again, the notification I need that she’s closer to her climax and I thrust harder, losing myself in her pleasure.

  When her nails dig into my back, I know she’s in the throes of her orgasm, and I lose myself too. Our bodies seize as one, keeping our voices down, panting in each other’s ear.

  I don’t want to leave this spot. Savannah’s body is my home. But when I lift up to look at her face, I notice the hesitation there. Her eyes are closed and her lips are pressed together in a way that tells me she’s avoiding my stare.

  “Are you okay?” I ask in a gruff voice.

  She nods her head. “I’m good,” she answers, but I can tell she’s hiding something. Settling my weight against her body, a sudden realization hits. I came here in such a rush, desperate to fuck my cares away that I was careless and didn’t wrap it up when I should have.


  I’m such a fucking hypocrite.

  “I promise, I’m on the pill.”

  He gives me a pointed stare as he comes out of the shower.

  “The point is it was stupid. Sloppy. I don’t make mistakes like that.” His voice still sounds so heavy. I wonder if he hears it—all the pain and worry hidden in that deep growl.

  “It’s fine. I trust you.”

  “Why would you do that?” It’s a harsh statement, and I flinch at the accusation.

  This thing between us was inevitable, a force we both had no power against. And I can admit it’s just sex. I have to focus on keeping myself safe, not getting attached. But his flippant disregard still stings.

  “Beats me,” I answer, leaving him in his room and escaping down the hallway to the living room.

  Put another wall up.

  Keep him at a distance.

  The house has a little more life today. Ruby is up and moving around, although she still looks a little like a zombie while she does it.

  Lucy is sitting at the dining room table cutting paper and coloring. In my limited experience with children, I’m actually surprised to see how quiet this girl is. It’s like she can read the mood of the room and keeps her mood the same.

  “Coffee?” Ruby asks without looking at me. She’s mindlessly washing the dishes. I want to hug her, show her some comfort, but her current expression is somewhere between fuck off and fuck the hell off.

  I touch her arm as I pass toward the coffee maker. The relationship between Ruby and Hazel was ambiguous at best, but it was clearly stronger than your usual housekeeper and homeowner relationship. Either that or Ruby is taking this all very hard.

  What am I supposed to say at this point? Hazel’s body was just removed last night. We have to start planning the funeral and discuss the will. I’m anxious to get things going, but I don’t want to come across as too eager.

  After pouring myself a cup, I sit down next to Lucy. She gives me a sweet smile, which I return. “What are you making?” I ask.

  “Flowers.” She’s cutting petal-shaped paper and coloring it with a small box of crayons.