Lust Is the Thorn (2 page)

We passed beeping machines, IV stands, and nurses in scrubs who looked so overworked they moved as if they were more dead than alive, and we finally turned into a room at the back of the hallway that was smaller than my dorm room back at school. The second we stepped through the doorway—

I froze.

Rose did, too.

She was lying in bed, looking frailer than ever before. Her face was pale, with big dark shadows under her eyes, and despite her normal bravado, she looked terrified. Bruises had formed on her cheekbones and around her neck, where the man had apparently wrapped his hands and tried to kill her.

I'd never felt so
murderous
before in my life.

“Who was he? Give me his name.”

The cop stepped back. “We don't know his name yet.”

“Thorn…”

I turned back to her, not speaking, my chest rising and falling rapidly.
“What?”

Her eyes were dull, and her soft, wavy hair that sometimes haunted my dreams was messy. She was still stunning, gorgeous in an awe-inspiring way that never failed to punch me in the chest, but tonight she seemed…
broken
. There was another bruise forming under her left eye, her lip was swollen, and she had a splint on her left arm that went from her wrist to her elbow. She wore one of those generic blue hospital gowns, and it only made her look paler. She had an emptiness to her that I'd hoped never to see in her. Like she'd seen and done too much.

“It's not as bad as it looks.” She licked her lips, avoiding my eyes as she ran her tongue over her silver lip ring. “I'm okay. I promise.”

I didn't say anything. I wasn't capable of words.

“Are we all good here?” Officer Forkes asked.

I nodded once, still not speaking.

Rose smoothed her hair with her right arm. Her diamond nose stud twinkled under the florescent lights. “Yeah. Thanks, Officer.”

“Stay safe, Ms. Gallagher.”

“Always,” she said softly.

The officer left us alone and we studied each other, not speaking. I frowned at the fading bruise showing on her good arm, right below her shoulder, and thought about the dragon tattoo she'd gotten in memory of Mikey. I couldn't see the tattoo under her gown, but I knew it was there. The bruise had the distinct shape of fingers, as if someone had grabbed her too tightly and refused to let go. Those marks angered me more than the time she'd stolen my phone back in high school, when Mikey was still alive, and texted Mary St. James that I had herpes. To this day, Mary was still standoffish when we crossed paths every Sunday.

She glanced down, saw where I was staring, and tugged the gown's sleeve down. Too late. I'd never forget what I'd seen. “How did you find out about the attack?”

“Your job gave the police your emergency contact information.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Oh. Right. I didn't know Daisy's Diner—”

“We both know it wasn't Daisy's Diner the cop got my information from, since you apparently don't work there anymore. Maybe you never did,” I said, clenching my teeth tightly. “How long have you been at Kitty Kat's?”

“I don't know what you're talking…” As she blinked at me, resignation crossed her face and her voice trailed off. Her cover was blown, her secret was out, and she didn't look too happy about it. “Just for a few nights.”

A muscle in my jaw twitched. “Why?”

She remained silent, staring at her lap.

I clenched my jaw.
“Rose. Why?”

“Keith wasn't quite the Prince Charming I made him out to be, okay?”

I took a deep breath, and then slowly released it. “Meaning?”

“Meaning…lately, he was getting drunk and hitting me. I grew up with that for way too many years, and refused to fall back into that life for a man. Any man.” She played with the white blanket on her lap. Her pack of Marlboro Menthols sat beside her on the hospital nightstand, and I gritted my teeth at the sight. I hated that she smoked, and she knew it. “So I left. But to lose him, I had to lose everything I had, because he wasn't exactly happy I walked. Assholes like him never are. So I left my job. My home. What little money I had, before he snorted it all up his nose. I lost it all to him. I had to start over again.”

At a strip club
. “Why didn't you tell me you needed help?” I shoved my hands in my pockets and stepped closer, rage pumping through my veins. “You should have
told
me.”

“Why? What were you going to do for me?”

“I would have politely reminded him it's not okay to pick on people smaller than himself,” I growled. “And then I would have showed him why.”

I used to be good at that.

At teaching punks lessons.

“The old Thorn McKinney comes out to play, huh?” She let out a small laugh. “Yeah. In no world would
I
let that happen. You're seconds from starting your new life, but you're going to take on an abusive asshole who's hitting women because his dick's too small, and ruin it all? Get thrown in jail for me? Hell no. Not on my watch.”

Again I stepped closer, my attention locked on the bruise under her eye. “I don't know what I would have done, exactly, but I would have done
something,
damn it. If I'd known you lost your home and job—”

“You would have…what?” she asked, her tone rising like it always did when she was upset. “Hidden me in your dorm room at school? Gotten yourself kicked out?”

Flexing my jaw, I glanced away, because I didn't have an answer. I hadn't been given the opportunity to come up with a plan, after all. But now I had been, and I was going to take her out of here, find her somewhere to stay that wasn't a strip club, and get her a job. One that didn't involve taking her clothes off like her mother—or mine.

“You still should have told me. I could have taken care of you.”

“I don't need help. I was working at a strip club for a little while—not deathly ill. I can take care of myself, and always have.” She gripped the blanket.
“Father.”

I tugged on my clerical collar again and studied her, tallying each mark and bruise as a personal failure of mine.
I had failed Rose
. But I wouldn't do it again.

Never again.

“I'm not a priest yet. Just a deacon.”

She rolled her eyes. “Same thing, if you ask me.”

I stared at her, not sure what to say. Or do. I didn't feel that familiar comfortable warmth I got when in her company. I didn't immediately know how to make her laugh. Or smile. Or open up to me. For the first time…

I had no clue what to say.

Thorn stood watching me with those dark amber eyes of his, with his perfectly styled brown hair and olive complexion, and all I could think was:
he knows
. I wasn't ashamed of who I was, or what I'd done. I'm a fighter. I did what I had to do to survive, to take care of myself, and had been doing that since I was old enough to realize my deadbeat parents never would. But seeing the worry in Thorn…

Yeah. I didn't like it.

“You might not have taken the vows, but you look like one, and act like one, too,” I said softly, gesturing toward the collar he was never without. “Or are you still out there fucking your way through women, like the good old days?”

He rocked back on his heels and avoided looking at me. Was it just me, or did he
blush
? The old Thorn didn't blush at anything. “You know I'm not.”

“Yeah.” I forced a laugh. “I guess I do.”

God knows that if he was interested in fucking anyone, he'd have a long line of ready and willing women to choose from—and I'd be at the front of that line with a shiv.

Pathetic, but true.

In true Rose Gallagher fashion, I was in love with a guy I could never have. With a guy who would never want me, even if he
weren't
practically a priest in the Roman Catholic Church. To him, I was an obligation. A little sister. Someone to protect, not fuck. He might look like he belonged on the cover of
GQ
without a shirt, but he kept himself under tight control.

Always had.

Well, that wasn't true.

His iron self-control had kicked in after Mikey died in a tragic drunk-driving accident almost eight years ago. That night, it was like a switch was flicked in Thorn's head, and he became a new man. Instead of drugs, girls, and booze, he spent his days and nights at the Holy Mother Roman Catholic University in the heart of Chicago, studying to become a
priest
. He left the slums of Englewood behind, and made something of his life.

Left me behind, too.

We had weekly lunches, and I knew he cared about me in his own way, but it wasn't the same as having him living three houses down, or as good as having him climb through my window in the middle of the night because mine was easier to get through than Mikey's. It wasn't the same as spending evenings together, reading together, feet touching as we quietly enjoyed each other's company. He wasn't
that guy
anymore.

I was happy for him, and all the changes he'd made.

Honestly, I
was
.

But he seemed to think meeting up once a week to shoot the shit meant he knew what was happening in my life. He didn't. Never had. I'd purposely kept him in the dark, because a man of the cloth didn't need to know what I was up to. What I had to do to survive.

No matter how many times he'd crawled into my room as a kid.

“What happened tonight?” he asked, his voice soft yet firm.

“I finished up work—”

“At a strip club.”

My cheeks heated. “Don't take that tone with me. I needed money, and a place to stay, and Kitty Kat's offered both those things. It was just a temporary solution till I got back on my feet.”

He didn't say anything, just glowered at me.

Raising a brow despite the pain, I refused to back down. I had nothing to be ashamed of. So what if I needed to take my clothes off for some horny middle-aged men to get by for a week or two? If it's what needed to be done, I would do it, and I would rock at it, too. I'd be the best dancer on that stage.

Gallaghers don't do things half-assed.

We go all in.

Taking my clothes off and shaking what the good Lord gave me didn't change me, or the fact that I had goals. Dreams. Ambitions. My job at Kitty Kat's was just a temporary setback. I would still get where I wanted to be. I was still
me
.

If he couldn't accept that, that was on
him
.

He finally broke off our little Mexican standoff, dragging his hands down his face. “I'm sorry. I just—I wish you had come to me. I would have figured out something till you got a job. A real job.”

I stiffened. He was right. My job hadn't been a good one. But that didn't give him the right to judge me. No one had that right, and
he
of all people should know that. “I had a
real
job. It might not be as glamorous as putting on a white collar and telling everyone how to properly live their lives, but it was something.”

He scowled at me. “You know what I mean.”

I did, just like I knew he wasn't looking down on me, but was upset that I'd done something Mikey never would have allowed. But that didn't change the fact that I stripped, and I didn't give a damn what he thought of it. What I did with my life, my body, was none of his business…no matter how much I secretly wished it was.

And that was that.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked stubbornly. The morphine was starting to mess with my head, so I focused on his bright amber eyes to block out the spinning room. In this lighting, his naturally tan complexion looked deeper. Darker. “Repent my sins? Come to your church for confession on Sunday? Because I don't—”

“What happened tonight?” he asked again. “Tell me.”

The last thing I wanted to do was relive the attack again. I already did it at least ten times, and I reassured at least five kind women that I'd stopped the attack before he could actually rape me. The female cop they'd sent in right before Thorn arrived had made me repeat my story three times to make sure I hadn't forgotten any important details. No matter how kind she'd been, nothing detracted from the fact that for the second time that night, I'd felt violated. The man in the alley had scared me in ways I hadn't been scared since before I left home. But Thorn didn't need to know all that.

That was on me.

“I think it's pretty self-explanatory. There was a guy in the club who was watching me too closely with his hand down his pants, freaking me out. I told security, and they booted him. I thought that would be the end of it. But he jumped me outside my work and beat me up.” I gestured down my body. His gaze dipped down, and I
felt
it. Felt
him
. “Gave me this sprained wrist that hurts every time I move it, so I'm trying not to do that at all. Beat-up face. Sore throat from when he tried to strangle me. Bruised self-esteem, since I should have been able to take that fucker down without Gary's help. He was a little guy, smaller than Mikey was in tenth grade, and—”

“Rose.”
He squared his jaw. “Was he…did he…touch…?”

He couldn't even say it. Couldn't complete the thought. And he expected me to be
honest
with him about the rest of my life? About what I'd seen and done? He couldn't handle it. Not anymore. What had that seminary done to the guy who used to have sex with two girls at once on my back lawn—in the
daylight
? “Did he rape me? Is that what you're trying to ask me?”

“Yes.” His hands curled into balls. “Did he rape you?”

“Nah. He tried, but I stopped him.”

“You can tell me the truth.” He came over to the side of the bed, probing for answers he didn't really want. “I can help you.”

I gripped my left arm, right above my splint, and held on tight. I trembled, not because the man had raped me—he hadn't—but because for a second…I'd thought he would. That I wouldn't succeed in fighting him off. And that had shaken me in ways I'd never been shaken before. Tonight wasn't the first time some asshole had decided he deserved my attention, but it would be the last. “Like I said. He tried, but I kneed him in the nuts, and that made him stop trying to whip out his dick. He used his fists instead after that, and tried to strangle me into submission. It almost worked.”

He let out a long breath. “So he didn't rape you?”

“No. He didn't rape me, “I said, since he
clearly
needed to hear the words. “I used the move you taught me all those years ago after Georgie Duncan tried to kiss me behind the cafeteria.”

Something flashed across his face, but I couldn't figure out what. “Good. At least you listened to something I said, since you clearly didn't hear me earlier today when I repeatedly asked you if everything was okay, and if you needed anything.”

“I was okay.” I lifted my chin stubbornly. “And I didn't need anything.”

We studied each other again.

He was so handsome, so off-limits, that it almost hurt. I'd been in love with this man for most of my life. He'd taken care of me, after Mikey died in that accident. He'd been in that car with him. Mikey had gotten behind the wheel drunk, and he'd died. Thorn could have, too. But he'd walked away…unlike my brother. Even before the accident, he'd been there for me when I needed a shoulder to cry on, or to get something off a high shelf.

No matter what it was, or what I required…

He was always there.

Thorn was my protector. He even kept my father off me when Dad was off on one of his rages where he wanted to punch anything that breathed—which was why I hadn't told him about Keith. If he'd known that he was using me as a punching bag, all his hard work and devotion would have been ruined. He couldn't kick ass anymore. He wasn't in that world anymore, but I was. And he just had to accept that.

“Rose.”

I lifted a brow again. “Yes, Father?”

He let out a little growl and stepped closer, but pulled himself up short. There was something new, like some kind of charged energy, between us. I could only assume it was his anger, since I'd never really given him a reason to be angry with me before.

“So now what are you going to do?” he asked, his voice hard. “What's your plan? You don't need my help, so you clearly have the next step all figured out.”

I lowered my head, blinking down at my lap, letting my silence speak for itself. I wasn't dumb. If I couldn't dance, I couldn't live in the apartment the other dancers and I shared, rent-free. It was a workers-only apartment—and I wouldn't be hanging off any poles anytime soon. And truth be told…

I didn't want to.

Like I said, I didn't feel ashamed or anything. But I didn't particularly
enjoy
taking my clothes off for a bunch of sweaty, dirty men, either.

He bent down and held a hand to his ear. “What was that? I didn't hear you. Speak louder.”

“Sorry.” I held up my hand and flipped him off. “Did you hear that?”

“Loud and clear,” he said drily, crossing his arms.

“Good.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, gently resting a hand on my thigh and scooting even closer. I jumped, because having a man's hand on me so soon after the attack, even Thorn's, was too much. I almost pulled away, but forced myself to stay still. “Here's what is going to happen, and just to be clear? I'm not asking for your permission.”

I frowned up at him. “I'm not a little girl to be bossed—”

“You
will
be leaving with me, and I
will
be taking care of you,” he continued, ignoring me. “You will
not
be returning to that club. If I let you, Mikey will come back to life just to kill me, and I would deserve every single ounce of pain. I owe it to him to make sure you never have to do something like this again, and I won't back down. You're coming with me, whether you want to or not.” He cocked his head toward the table next to me. “And those aren't coming with us.”

I swallowed hard at the mention of Mikey and glanced at my smokes, because it was easier than thinking about him. It might have been almost eight years since my brother died, but tonight, as I sat beat-up in a hospital bed, it felt like it was only a few days ago. “You don't owe him, or me, anything. I'm an adult, and I can take care of myself. And if I want to smoke, I will, thank you very much. It's my body, not yours.”

“I know.” His tone softened a bit and he cupped my cheek tenderly. This time, I didn't flinch because I saw it coming, but I still recoiled inwardly. “But I want to take care of you. Please. Let me.”

I stared into his deep amber eyes, unable to look away, and gratitude swelled in my chest, as well as another
softer
emotion I chose to ignore. This close up, I saw little flecks of gold that I'd never noticed before. And I knew if I could trust anyone in this world, it was him. It was always him. “Where will we go?”

“Let me worry about that. That's my job. You just worry about taking care of yourself and getting better after being attacked.”

I turned away, but he didn't drop his hand from my cheek. “I'm fine. As far as beatings go, this is an acceptable one. I've had worse, and we both know it. I'll take care of myself, just like I always do. I'm all I've got, when push comes to shove.”

“You've got me,” he said slowly. “You've always had me.”

I sucked in a breath at the utter dedication I saw in his eyes as he looked at me. It literally stole my breath right out of my chest, making the room spin even more. This feeling he brought out in me, the desire to lean on him and let him help me, was scary. New. The idea of Thorn sticking around wasn't exactly an unwelcome one….

But it might be a dangerous one.

I'd been alone ever since Mikey died. I hadn't relied on anyone or anything in a long damn time. Having Thorn around, helping me, could soften me. It could make me think he would stick around, when we both knew that wasn't true. Maybe it would make me fall even more in love with a guy I knew very well could never be mine.

Once he took his vows and became an actual priest, he'd be assigned to a parish, one that could quite possibly be far away from here, and I would
still
be alone. I was already too attached to him and our weekly “dates” as it was, and staying with him, having him help me, would only make my annoying crush even worse.