by Monica James
Lily
I wasn’t expecting a bouquet. Or chocolates. But I was expecting something…more.
It’s been one week since Bull came into work, pissed me off beyond words, yet again, and then gave me the best orgasm of my life. I know it was wrong. I mean, I was angry with him. I always am. But something so wrong felt so right, and I can’t explain why that is.
He ran from the room because he was afraid. I should have been mad, but I wasn’t. By leaving that way, he showed me he feels whatever this is, too. He has pushed me away this entire time, and I need to know why.
I believed giving in to what I’ve wanted since I first laid eyes on him would have allowed me to move on, but it hasn’t. I’m left with more questions. I thought he’d at least check in, but he hasn’t, which is why I’m sitting in my truck in the parking lot of Hudson’s Motel.
I’ve been parked outside his room for ten minutes, and although every part of me is screaming to just leave, I open the door and take a deep breath. It’s freezing out, but my palms begin to sweat as I walk toward his room.
A woman, regardless of the cold, in a tight cheetah print dress comes out of the room next to his, plunger in hand. When she sees me, I instantly freeze, feeling as though I’ve been caught doing something wrong. “Can I help you?” she asks, arching a suspicious brow.
“I, I’m here to see a friend,” I manage to spit out.
“Bull?” she asks, closing the door.
I nod quickly.
“Isn’t he the popular boy this morning.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some woman is in there with him now.” She points at his room with a grin. “She had handcuffs, so ya know…he might be a while.”
My cheeks flush for many different reasons.
“Not that I can blame her.” She fans her face dramatically. “Nothing but trouble follows men like him.”
“Don’t I know it,” I mumble under my breath.
She bursts into laughter. “Be careful, sweetie. He is toxic…but in the best possible way. I’m Venus. I run this place.” She offers her hand, solving the mystery of who she is.
Bull mentioned her when he offered to call her and see if she had any spare rooms for me to stay in. At the time, I thought he was being rude. But now I see he was in his weird, socially awkward way, trying to be nice.
“It’s nice to meet you, Venus. I’m Lily.”
“Well, Miss Lily, we girls have got to stick together when it comes to men like that.” She hooks her thumb toward room fourteen. “Good luck.”
I can’t help but smile because I instantly like Venus. She is no bullshit, and in this world, that is a refreshing change. My good mood doesn’t last because who the fuck is in Bull’s room?
With only one way to find out, I walk up to his door and pound on it loudly. When it doesn’t open, I continue thumping my fist against the wood. At least one of them isn’t handcuffed, so someone can open this goddamn door.
Just as I contemplate kicking it in, the door is yanked open and before me stands a pissed off Bull. I need a moment to process what I see because his resting bitch face is on point; however, while on most days he appears aloof, making him the master of RBF, this morning, he is actually annoyed.
For someone who is supposed to be in the middle of kinky play, he doesn’t look to be enjoying himself. The fact pleases me beyond words.
“What are you doing here?” he snaps, running a hand over his head. His hair has grown since I first met him, and the dark color only emphasizes the brilliance to his unique eyes.
“Hello to you, too,” I reply, attempting to push past him, but he slams his hand against the doorway, preventing me from entering his room.
“Now isn’t a good time. You need to go.”
“Rude much?” I, once again, attempt to slip past him, but he stands solid, and I bump straight into a wall of muscle.
My accelerated breathing betrays what being this close to him is doing to me. Images of him behind me, gripping my waist as he took what I freely gave have me wetting my lips nervously.
“Can we talk later? I’m kind of in the middle of something,” Bull says, interrupting my trip down memory lane.
I’m sure he is, which is the reason I shove against his chest and barge into his room, preparing myself for whips and chains. I don’t get any of that. What I see is a well-dressed woman leaning against the dresser, far from the dominatrix I was imagining.
I freeze, not sure what I just walked into.
A frustrated sigh leaves Bull before he closes the door.
The woman wastes no time as she extends her hand. “Hi, I’m Franca Brown. And you are?”
Walking toward her, I shake it. “Lily.” Her grip is firm, no-nonsense, and I wonder who she is. She is beautiful—in a terrifying way.
“Lily who?”
“Lillian Hope,” I reply, suddenly feeling the need to give my full name.
“How do you know Bull?”
Franca doesn’t believe in small talk it appears. “We work, worked together,” I correct.
Bull stands by me, arms folded. Franca isn’t here because he asked her to be.
“Worked? You worked at The Pink Oyster?”
I nod, suddenly feeling like I’m under inquisition.
“You stripped?” she asks, cocking her head to the side.
Anger overtakes me because her question is filled with judgment. “No, I danced,” I reply, not at all intimidated by her.
“So you’re a stripper?” Is she doing this to piss me off?
“No,” I state firmly, placing my hands on my hips. “I’m a dancer.”
From the corner of my eye, I notice Bull subtly shielding a grin behind his palm.
Franca purses her lips, not appreciating my attitude. “When did you stop working at The Pink Oyster?”
Now I really am under investigation it seems. “Why is this any of your business?”
Franca doesn’t like when the shoe is on the other foot. “Because everything involving Bull is my business.”
Bull clenches his jaw, the only sign he is unsettled.
“Why? What are you? His mom?”
It’s supposed to be a joke, but the joke is on me when Franca replies without pause, “No, his parole officer actually.”
My confidence takes a nosedive as I feel like she’s just drenched me with a bucket of ice-cold water.
Parole officer…that would mean Bull is on parole, meaning he was in…jail.
What the fuck?
Franca doesn’t give me a chance to recover from the bombshell she just dropped. “It’s my job to ensure he keeps his nose clean, and I am awfully good at my job, Ms. Hope.”
I nod uselessly, still attempting to pick my jaw up from the floor.
“Word on the street is that there is an illegal fighting syndicate operating right under my nose. I wanted to make sure Bull doesn’t know anything about it because if he does, things could end very badly for him.”
“I told you I didn’t,” he says, not bothering to hide his irritation. But he’s lying. He sure as shit knows because he was fighting in it.
This explains why he hid his face behind that mask. He couldn’t expose his identity because his ass is on the line if he gets caught. It’s so dangerous, which has me guessing he’s doing it for the money. I’ve seen him fight. He’s good. It’s easy money for him.
But it seems so risky. I can’t shake the feeling he’s doing it for another reason. I can theorize later, however.
“And I told you I will get out of your hair when you tell me where you were on the night of the second of last month. I know you called in sick. So, where were you?” Franca pins him with a challenging stare.
She doesn’t believe him.
Bull’s breathing doesn’t waver, and he is perfectly still, but what I know now explains so much. At times, it felt like he was from another planet because he was clueless to everyday things. He is socially awkward for a reason, and that’s because h
e’s been in jail, where I can only imagine being too social meant getting yourself killed.
And he will go back there if someone doesn’t provide him with an alibi, because on the second, he was fighting.
“He was with me,” I state confidently.
Franca blinks once, unable to hide her surprise. “Are you sure?”
Nodding casually, I don’t want to appear too eager as I reply, “Yes, positive. He was with me all night.” Not a lie because I was with him.
Franca digs into her inner jacket pocket, producing a small notepad and pen. “And what did you do?”
“My son had a sleepover with a friend, so I invited Bull over. We watched some movies, went to bed. Nothing too exciting.”
Franca writes everything down, but the hard press of her lips indicates she’s not happy with what I’ve shared. “So that’s all you did?”
I don’t know why I have this instinct to protect him, but when I remember all the times he’s protected me, I realize it’s because he’s been there for me. And it’s now time I returned the favor. “A lady never tells.”
Franca arches an arrogant brow, seeing me as nothing but a whore, it seems, because my occupation warrants such judgment. It’s time I acted like one then.
“But if you really need to know…he, quote, fucked me all night long. End quote. Feel free to write that down.” I point at her little notepad with a sarcastic smile.
Bull snickers when Franca flips her notepad closed, infuriated. “That’s all for now. I’ll be in touch, Ms. Hope.”
“No worries. I’ll be taking off my clothes on most days, so if you need me, best you call first.” I fold my arms across my chest. She is nothing to me, and I will not stand by and allow someone to make me feel like shit for what I do for a living.
Franca doesn’t appreciate my attitude. “I’ll see you soon,” she says to Bull, who nods. “I’ll see myself out.”
I dare not move, and only when the door slams shut, do I breathe again.
The room crackles with unspoken tension. I suddenly have jelly legs and slump onto the end of the bed. Fluffball curls up next to me. I pat him, needing a moment to gather my thoughts before I can look Bull in the eyes.
“Why did you do that?” His question is filled with complete confusion.
Taking a deep breath, I peer up at him from under my lashes. “The technicalities may be off a little, but I was with you.”
“Those technicalities you speak of”—he slowly folds his arms across his broad chest—“can get you into a lot of trouble.”
Shrugging, I lean back on my hands, desperate to discuss something a lot more important. “You didn’t tell me you were in prison.”
His jaw is clenched tight. But he must be able to read my resolve. “It’s not exactly a conversation starter.”
“I suppose not, but it explains a lot.”
“It does?” he asks suspiciously.
Nodding, I reply, “Most of the time, it seems like you’re from a different planet. I now know why. How long were you in prison?”
I know it’s a personal question, but we did have sex, so I suppose I can ask this without feeling like a snoop.
Bull clenches his biceps, then unfolds his arms. “Twelve years.”
He doesn’t want to elaborate, but I continue to press. “What did you do?”
He stares me straight in the eye, and without pause, he blankly reveals, “I killed someone.”
My face suddenly feels hot, my entire body burning from head to toe. It’s slow at first, but when I process what Bull just shared, I envision my flesh going up in flames.
There is no way for me to conceal my horror over what I’ve just heard. Bull told me he was bad, but I didn’t think that sin involved taking another person’s life.
“Still want to play twenty questions?” he mocks, but beneath his sarcasm, I can hear the disgust in his voice. There is more to the story, but there always is with Bull.
“Did they deserve it?” I ask softly, not knowing why this makes a difference. He fucking killed someone. That should be my cue to leave and not look back. But I don’t, and that’s because I think of all the times he’s saved me.
Yes, this is something huge, but does this define who he is? I don’t think it does. He’s never judged me, and I will give him the same respect.
Bull narrows his eyes, and I wonder what he sees. “Yes, he did. And if I could go back, I would kill him again.”
I wanted honesty, and Bull just delivered it to me.
I don’t know how to feel. I know I should be scared, disgusted, but I’m not. What does that say about me? “Why did you kill him?”
Bull shakes his head, tonguing his cheek. Was he expecting me to run and hide? He’s mistaken if he was. “Why does anyone do anything?”
Unsure what he means, I watch with bated breath as he walks toward me slowly. “Self-fulfillment.” He stops just feet away, scouring over every inch of me. “Revenge.” He leans forward, so impossibly close, only to pat Fluffball before turning to look me dead in the eye. We’re almost cheek to cheek. “Love,” he finally concludes.
“What did he do to you?” I whisper, my lower lip trembling.
Bull’s eyes drop to my mouth, and with a smirk, he replies, “It’s not what he did to me. It’s what he did to someone I loved.”
His reasoning now makes sense. I don’t pretend to understand because I don’t know the full story, but in this case—do two wrongs make a right? Murder is never the answer. However, why aren’t I looking at Bull like a murderer because that’s what he is?
“Why are you fighting?” I ask, unable to shake the feeling this is all connected. “It’s a violation of your parole.”
Bull surprises me as he grips my chin firmly. He isn’t rough. He’s aroused. “You’re too fucking smart for your own good.”
I stand my ground, refusing to be intimidated. I know his secrets, well some of them. I don’t know what could be worse than what he just told me. “So you may as well tell me the truth because I’ll find out what you’re up to.”
Bull inhales deeply, as if taking a calming breath. “Maybe another day.” He runs his thumb along my chin, then lets me go.
Sitting on my hands to stop them from trembling, I whisper, “Do you feel any remorse for killing that man?”
“No,” he replies, coming to a stand.
“Would you…will you…kill again?” I amend, needing to know all sides to this complex story.
He weighs over his response, but I know his answer before he even replies. “Yes.”
Exhaling heavily, I don’t know what to say or think. This is a game changer; this is reason for me to leave and never come back. I asked for honesty, and Bull has given it to me. It’s now my choice what to do with this information.
When my gaze drifts to the clock on the bedside dresser, I suddenly realize there is only one choice to make. “Shit! I have to go.”
Jumping up, I pat down my body, wondering where I put my keys. Bull sighs but moves aside, clearing a path to the door. When I notice his glum expression, I quickly backtrack. “I’m running late for work,” I clarify as I don’t want my exit to appear like I’m running for the hills. “I have a ballet class.”
He nods but doesn’t seem to believe me.
“Did you want to come watch?” I have no idea what possessed me to ask him this, but it’s too late to rescind the invite.
I expect him to say no, but when he mulls over the offer and eventually nods, I can’t keep the surprise from my face. “It’s for preschoolers. Just so you know.”
Bull doesn’t seem bothered that he’ll be bored to tears as he grabs his leather jacket off the back of a chair. “Let’s bounce then.”
My insides do a tiny flip flop because no one has ever shown any interest in my dancing before. The few guys I dated briefly tuned out whenever I talked shop. This is new territory for both Bull and me.
Finding my keys in the most obvious place—my bag—I make my way out
the door, not wanting my happiness to show. This isn’t a big deal. He’s coming because I asked him to. It’s not a date. He just told me he’d murder again, for god’s sake. I need to stop with the fantasy of happily ever after.
Venus is pushing a cart down the walkway. When she sees Bull and me, she gives me a sassy wave. If she only knew what was really going on in his room.
Once we’re in the truck, I pump the gas pedal a few times because my truck needs a little TLC in the cold weather. She starts after three tries, and I’m pulling onto the highway. The rock music sounds softly over the radio, seeming to amplify the silence within the truck.
“How long has Andre worked at your club?” Not exactly the conversation starter I was expecting, but it is something I want to discuss with him.
“He was there when I started,” I reveal, keeping my eyes on the road.
“What’s wrong?”
Bull can read me like a book.
Clenching the wheel, I exhale deeply, hoping it’ll give me enough air to confess my truths. “I think…I think he was the one who attacked me that night.”
There is dead silence.
I risk a quick glance his way to ensure he’s still alive.
“Why?” is his simple question.
“I remember thinking my attacker’s eyes looked…familiar. When I saw Andre at Blue Bloods, I recognized where I’d seen them before.”
“Motherfucker,” Bull curses under his breath, his fist clenching on his thigh. “I should have taken off his ski mask.”
I don’t fail to pick up on his regret. “What do you think it means? Why would he do that? I didn’t do anything that would make him want to kill me.” I soon seal my lips when I realize what I just said.
After what Bull disclosed, I decide to keep the murder talk to a minimum.
“It means Carlos will do anything to have you working at his club.”
“What?” I question in disbelief.
When he doesn’t reply, I cluck my tongue. “You can’t be serious?” But it’s more than obvious that he is. “That doesn’t make any sense. Yes, Carlos has been chasing after me. But to go to those extremes to recruit me is ridiculous.”