Burning Kiss

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Burning Kiss Page 23

by Angela Addams


  Steve bent down on one knee and helped me put my socks on, then my shoes. When he rose, he looped his arm around my waist and helped me up.

  “She’s leaving now. You can deal with her discharge papers yourself then.” Steve smiled, picked up my bag, slung it over his shoulder and then motioned for her to get the fuck out of the way.

  She stood firm though. “I’ll call security.”

  Steve pinned her with the look. I gave an involuntary shudder.

  She blinked hard, took a faltering step back.

  “In this country, we don’t keep rape victims hostage in hospitals. If Jade wants to go home, which she does, then she will go home. If you, or anyone else tries to prevent that, she will press charges for harassment and confinement.”

  “She needs to sign a waiver to say that we don’t recommend discharge.”

  “We are walking out of here right now. I’d suggest you deal with the security guard dog and let him know the plan. If you need a paper signed then you get that little ass of yours out the door and print one up because we aren’t stopping until we get to my car.” Steve started to move, his arm tight around me, holding me up.

  Somehow we made it home. I can’t say I was totally cognizant of the trip or that I really cared other than that I was out of the hospital and breathing clean air again. Sitting was uncomfortable. Walking bordered on impossible and everything happened slowly.

  Steve opened my condo door and ushered me inside, helping me sit on the recliner in the living room.

  “I’d like my keys, please,” I said as I looked up at him, my body throbbing, pointing to his hand. “There’s only that set, right?”

  Steve flinched, his eyes clouding as he slowly pulled away. “You’re making it harder and harder to give a shit, Jade. A guy might think you just aren’t very appreciative.” He tossed my key on my lap. “It’s not like I don’t have other things I could be doing.”

  I winced, sucked back the snap of anger as I collected the key in my hand, clenching it tightly. “I’m just feeling very…”

  “Vulnerable. Yeah, I get it. I’m going to get your bed ready. You need some rest so you’ll quit acting like such a demon.” He walked away, slipping into my room and leaving me alone to my thoughts.

  Sure, I was acting like an asshole. I felt like I had a right to it. And despite what Steve thought, there were two things I needed more than anything else at the moment, including rest. A shower and my gun. My .38 was gone, stolen presumably with my purse, ID, credit cards… Ugh, that would be a nightmare of phone calls to make. I rubbed my head, the throbbing increasing with the thought of everything that needed to happen. But that was just a bunch of calls and hassle—what really bothered me was the fact that every little creak and groan coming from outside of my condo door was making me jump. I didn’t like feeling vulnerable and I was damn angry that asshole had conditioned me to be. I wanted my shotgun out and within reach.

  “Steve.” With great effort, I pushed myself out of the recliner and started toward my room.

  He came out with a pillow in hand. “What are you doing? I’m not ready for you yet.”

  “I need a shower. I feel gross and stink like the hospital.” I tried to push past him, which was a joke really because he was like a brick wall standing in the way of my goal.

  “I told you, I think rest is what you need.” He gripped my elbow and moved us toward the ensuite.

  I snapped a hard look his way. I was pushing him, testing his anger. I could see it simmering there in his eyes. It was almost like I wanted him to snap. Yet, he just kept reeling it back. Damn him. I hated everything about this, including how dependant I was on what he was giving me.

  How much I wanted him to give it to me.

  “But if it’s a shower you want…”

  “It’ll make me feel a hell of a lot better. I want him off of me.” I didn’t have to say who; Steve just understood.

  Without another word, he propped me against the sink and turned the shower on, letting it warm and then steam. He knew I liked it hot.

  Steve helped me get my clothes off, lifting my shirt over my head gently and then lowering himself to slide my track pants off. He paused at my thighs, his fingers lightly tracing the bruises that were there. I cringed, not because of the pain necessarily but because of the evidence. Violation, submission—it left a mark. He kissed the worst of them with tenderness that made my eyes tear. It must have looked pretty bad for a reaction like that.

  When he stood he started to undress as well.

  “What are you doing?” Panic wrenched through me and I cursed my rapist again for making me so jittery.

  “I’m getting in with you. You can barely hold yourself up. The last thing you need is a bump on the head to go along with everything else.” He moved the shower curtain aside and beckoned me with his hand. “Come on, I’ll wash your hair.”

  My body tingled for a variety of reasons, most of which revolved around the idea of clean hair. I sighed, resigned to the reality that I couldn’t really stand without bracing myself.

  The water felt divine. Seriously, like the best shower I’d ever had in my entire life. The hospital dirt, the blood that had remained, the idea of his saliva, his fingers, his residue all over me, washing away with the soap Steve slathered on me was one of the best feelings I’d ever experienced.

  He lathered my hair being careful not to get any into my stitches, massaging my scalp in a way that made me moan with gratitude.

  “Do you remember anything about the attack?” His voice was calm, purposeful.

  I gulped, kept my eyes closed. Images flashed behind my lids. “I dream about it, I think. He drugged me. I was in and out.”

  “Do you know what your attacker looks like?” He reached above and pulled the showerhead down, using it to rinse the shampoo away, his fingers gliding through my hair.

  “No,” I lied.

  “Do you know why you were attacked?” He put the showerhead back, then grabbed a bottle of conditioner and gobbed on a generous amount.

  I couldn’t answer. My throat seized. Did I know? Did I ask for it? Did I deserve it? I’d baited a man and he’d found me and gotten revenge. Revenge that he’d had no right to take. Revenge that proved I was a failure.

  Steve turned me around so I was facing him. He lifted my chin so that he could look at me. “Do you want the police to handle this?”

  I shook my head. No, I wanted to handle it. I wanted to shove a dildo up my rapist’s ass with no lube and fuck him like he’d fucked me. I wanted to twist his nipples until they bled. I wanted to bite his testicles and make him cry. I wanted to do everything he’d done to me and more, so much more.

  Steve nodded as if he understood. Something flashed in his eyes that made me shiver. Determination, resolve. Anger. He rinsed the conditioner from my hair and then turned the water off and helped me out of the shower.

  He was all tenderness again as he dried me off. His kindness was unnerving. I knew it came with strings attached. That I would owe him big time once I was well again. When he led me into the bedroom, he found me some comfortable clothes to put on and then set me up on the bed.

  “I’ll get you some water.”

  As soon as he left the room, I was struggling out of bed again, determined to get to my closet where I stored my gun. I had two safes in there. One small biometric one that held my .38 and a Taser, and my standing one that held my shotgun and ammo.

  “What are you doing now?” Steve held a water bottle in one hand and a bowl in the other. He scrambled to put them on my nightstand before coming to help me.

  “I’m okay, I just want to get my gun.”

  There was a heartbeat of silence where we stood still, his hands on my waist.

  “I’m not exactly feeling safe and secure here, Steve,” I snapped. There were all kinds of reasons why this was a bad idea. I could shoot someone. I could shoot myself. Not to mention the laws I was breaking. In Canada, the only reason to have your gun out of the safe
was to transport it to a range. To have it out and loaded and lying on my bed next to me as I intended was super bad. Like go to jail bad probably. If anyone found out.

  Steve must have decided it was not a terrible idea because he gave in and helped me to my closet, watching silently as I opened the tall safe and took out my gun and a box of shells. The damn thing was heavy in my weakened state. Heavy and awkward. Without having to ask, Steve took it from me, leaving me to carry the box as we moved back toward my bed.

  “Would it be too much to ask for you not to load it?” He helped me sit again and laid the gun across my thighs.

  I cocked my eyebrow but said nothing.

  He sighed, motioned to the bowl on the table. “I cut you up a banana. Eat it.” He headed for the door. “I’m going to take your key, if that’s okay, just so I can pop back in without disturbing you.” He paused. “I’m the only one with a key and the only person you should be expecting here. So if you fall asleep and wake up to see a looming figure in your room, do me a favour and don’t shoot first.”

  I contemplated his words. Did I need him to come back? I chuckled quietly and gave him a tight nod. “You’d better call my name a few times before you come in here.”

  “Good idea.” He nodded. “Be careful, Jade. I’ll be back later tonight. I’ve got some things to do.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” The words sounded hollow because I didn’t believe them anymore. And that pissed me off.

  He paused at the door, hand on the frame, eyes on me. “You’re to stop seeing that cop.”

  I frowned, looked up. “What?”

  He moved back into my room, arms crossed, jaw tight. “He wants to be your hero. That’s not his place. I’ll be caring for you from now on. After everything we’ve been through, you owe me loyalty.”

  “Like hell!” I snorted, looking at him like he’d lost his mind. The strings of his kindness were showing, spiked with barbwire. “My hero? I don’t need a fucking hero. Let’s not get started on loyalty, not when you can’t even keep your dick in your pants around other women when we are together. And I definitely don’t need this from you right now.”

  He moved toward the bed, fist raised. “What is it with you and that guy? Why do you keep letting him get between us?”

  I slammed a shell into my gun, then raised the barrel, snapped it shut and took aim. “I am not in the mood for this shit, Steve. I was just motherfucking raped, beaten and left to die. Do you really want to test my mettle right now?”

  Steve smirked, a flash of his usual predatory self in his eyes. “This is what I get for helping you? I’m done competing with Eddie. You and I both know I’m the better match for you.”

  I lowered my gun, opened the action and busied myself with slamming another shell in. “Don’t be an ass. You and I both know that Eddie is the better man. He’s the one who can save me. You and I are toxic together.” I snapped my eyes to his, was surprised when he flinched as my words sank in. “You are nothing but an addiction and maybe it’s time to go cold turkey.”

  “He doesn’t get you,” Steve growled.

  “Maybe not, but he’s not toxic or abusive. He’s safe. And if I’m going to give loyalty to anyone, it’ll be the guy who has given his loyalty to me. Someone I can trust.” I raised my gun again. “Now get the fuck out of my house before I blow your goddamned head off.”

  32

  Steve left. No more words. Not even a glare. He just left and I slumped down and tried to sleep.

  What I wasn’t expecting, which was pretty stupid on my part, was the motherfucking pain intensifying. It lashed me awake with a jolt, my body screaming from the trauma of another nightmare, my injuries exacerbated by my thrashing.

  I moaned against the throbbing. Waiting to be discharged might have yielded me some take home pain meds. I hadn’t given that much thought when Steve had whisked me away to freedom.

  I rolled over and forced my aching arm up, fingers curling with reluctance on the edge of the nightstand drawer. I had some over-the-counter shit somewhere… Ah, yeah, there. I managed to get the bottle open somehow, the contents spilling all over the place. I glanced at the floor, watching the little pills bounce and scatter and wanted to cry. Fuck. I rolled onto my back, tears silently sliding down my cheeks. I’d give anything for help and I fucking hated that.

  My rapist had not only physically hurt me—the lingering effects enough to make me want to die—but the dreams. Fuck, the dreams were horrible. It’s like my subconscious was floating memories to the surface to give me a taste of what had happened. I’d experienced a terrible trauma and my brain was working hard to suppress it. Something I was getting used to. Apparently my defence mechanisms of choice were repression and denial. The worse the trauma was, the harder the brain had to work and subsequently, when the body slept, the brain rested too. Things slipped out, some in the form of fantasy and dreams, some actual memories. It was hard for me to decipher between the two.

  What I wouldn’t give to have Kassey there with me. Helping me through the pain, even if I knew she wasn’t alive. But despite my best efforts I couldn’t conjure her. The pain was too intense, reality just too real.

  This was not good. I pushed myself up, whimpering as I moved. Steve wouldn’t be back. Not after what I’d said. I needed a solution. Or at least to get off the bed to gather up the substandard over-the-counter-shit all over my floor.

  With a great amount of effort and more tears than I would ever admit, I finally managed to get my legs to the side, my toes touching the floor. I stopped, sucking in deep breaths. I could do this. I was a warrior. I was not a victim.

  I pushed myself up, lasted for about three seconds standing and then slid hard to the floor.

  Well, at least I had all the drugs I needed. I scooped up a handful, put them in my mouth—fuck the recommended dosage—and swatted the water bottle from the table. I choked them down and waited. Seriously without the slightest energy or desire to force myself back onto the bed where I’d be more comfortable. Pathetic.

  Just as the pills started to take the edge off, the phone rang. I thought about ignoring it but then considered the possibility that it was Eddie and heaved myself up, using the bed and the nightstand to get off the floor.

  “Hello.” It came out more as a groan.

  “Jade? What the fuck?” Eddie’s voice hurt my ear.

  “What the fuck what?” I wasn’t in the mood and couldn’t sugar coat my reaction, not that I would have anyway.

  “You left the hospital?”

  “I needed to be at home. I couldn’t get any sleep there and the nurses were horrible.” Why was I making excuses to this man?

  Eddie sighed. “So you’re at home? I’m coming over.”

  “No, I—”

  “Listen, I won’t stay long, I’m leaving the hospital with a bag of meds for you. The doctor told me you’d discharged yourself and that you’d probably be needing some pain killers. I filled the prescriptions.”

  I could have wept. “Thank you, I’ll unlock the door.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea…” His voice trailed off.

  “I’ve got my gun. If that bastard steps foot in my house I’ll blow it off.”

  “Your shotgun? It’s out? Loaded?” Eddie sounded alarmed.

  “Yep.” I glanced over my shoulder at it. “And don’t even start with me on the legalities of that.”

  He sighed again. “I’ll be over in ten. Don’t fucking shoot me when I get there.”

  I chuckled softly before hanging up. With a deep sigh of my own, I thought about laying down and going back to sleep, the pain pills I was probably overdosing on, finally working to some extent. The drugs on the way though would pack a more potent punch and I wanted them, if only to numb me enough so the nightmares wouldn’t hurt so bad. With a groan, I pushed myself off the bed and slowly, very slowly made my way to the door to unlock it.

  Eddie arrived as promised, coming with a bag of goodness and
a case of carbonated water. I’d been dozing on the bed and jolted a bit when he appeared in the doorway. My brain screamed not to shoot him as my fingers curled around the trigger guard of my gun. I probably wouldn’t have been able to lift it anyway; I was so weak and throbbing.

  “You don’t look so great. Have you eaten today?” He set the bag down on my nightstand and helped me sit up, then shoved a few pillows behind my back.

  “I ate earlier. And I’m not hungry. Just in pain. A lot of fucking pain.”

  He nodded, concern all over his face. “Yeah, that’s what the doctor said would happen. You left too early.”

  “I don’t need a fucking lecture, Eddie. Just give me the drugs.”

  “Sorry.” He did as he was told, pulling out two horse sized pills for me to swallow. “You do need to take these with food. You got anything in your fridge or should I pop down to the restaurant?”

  “My fridge is stocked,” I said as I took the pills from him.

  He untwisted the cap on a fizzy water and handed me the bottle. “Who stocked your fridge?”

  I gulped down the first pill. “Steve,” I mumbled before swallowing the next one.

  “Steve helped you home, didn’t he?” His voice cracked a bit.

  I snapped my gaze to meet his. “He did.” The hurt that flashed in his eyes made me angry. Damn him.

  “What the hell…” He paused, sucked in a deep breath, let it out. “Sorry, never mind, this isn’t the time. I’ll whip you up something to eat and get out of your hair.”

  Damn him for making me feel guilt or shame or remorse or whatever it was I was feeling. “I don’t need a saviour, Eddie. I don’t want a hero.”

  He looked at me, frowning, that hurt in his eyes flashing again. “You need someone to take care of you.”

  “No,” I growled. “I don’t.”

  He glanced over at my gun, shook his head. “So what, you’re just going to lay in bed, hoping to defend yourself if that rapist comes back for you? You think you can take care of yourself in the condition you’re in? He may have your personal information, Jade! He may know where you live.”

 

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