Brawler (15 page)

C
learly the shit has hit the fan, and we’re all covered in it. We ganged up on her like a bunch of assholes. Hours ago she took a man’s life, minutes ago she was cleared to go home, and seconds ago we told her she wasn’t enough. Actually, I told her she wasn’t enough again.

Rogan was the first to speak, which I have to admit is taking some getting used to. He’s a regular know-it-all these days, and fuck if he doesn’t make sense, too.

“Gotta ask what the fuck is the matter with you two,” he says, eyeing both of us but starts with Venessa. “She didn’t deserve that, any of that, and not fucking here, either.” Looking at me, he says, “That’s your woman, right?” I nod, and he says, “Thought so, fucking shame you didn’t back your woman considering she was right, and was so fucking hurt she walked outta here without shoes on.”

“I’ll go get her,” says Venessa.

“No,” I say, walking toward the door. “I’ll go get her.”

Turns out I didn’t have to go far, because she was stuck at the elevator and none too pleased to be talking with the good doctor. Walking up while trying to suppress my rage at seeing him touching her, I push past him to take up her right side.

“Need something, Doc?”

“I’m confused, Detective.” He smiles. “What is the nature of your relationship with Ms. Kowalski? Because you brought her here, yet here she is leaving … without shoes.”

“Time for you to go, Doc,” I growl. “Or can I borrow your pen and we can exchange numbers? You know, in case I need to reach you.”

Looking at Macy, he takes the hint. “You know how to reach me, Macy,” he says. “Day or night.” Then he walks away having the last word. Fuck, I hate when people do that.

“Where you headed, Princess?” I ask, pulling her to me.

“Home.” she says simply.

“My truck is downstairs,” I tell her. “We’ll stop and get something to eat on the way.”

“My home, Jonas,” she whispers.

“Your home is a crime scene,” I explain, and she wouldn’t be going there even if it wasn’t. “Told you before, I won’t let you go easy, Princess. Come on, we have some things to talk about.” Without protest, she lets me lead her to the elevator, through the lobby, and into my truck.

B
eing stuck at an elevator shoeless wasn’t a high point for me; one of the few things I have is my pride. Smacking the button wasn’t making the damn thing move any faster, either, so my options were wait here or take the steps. Obviously, I waited, and as luck would have it, Dr. Shinn took the opportunity to approach me. Clearly, the guys intimidated him, though I think it’s more than that, but if it is, he isn’t saying. He’s yapping about his worry for me, letting me know he’s here for me, and that I should reconsider his offer and that it’s still on the table.

Before I can answer him and before the damn elevator pinged to let me know my escape is here, Jonas is stalking us from down the hall, and is between the doctor and me in a flash. Instantly Chris tensed up, then found his voice, but then Jonas did, too. His tone was one I hadn’t heard before, and if I wasn’t sans shoes in oversized scrubs, my knees might have buckled. With the good doctor gone, Jonas pulls me to him, taking me into the elevator.

Telling him I want to go home does shit considering my home is now a crime scene, so my only option is Jonas again. When we clear the lobby doors I’m swept off my bare feet, literally, as he carries me to his truck. Setting me down carefully, he buckles my belt and our faces are inches apart. Wanting to sink my hands in his thick hair, I stop myself because I remember he doesn’t really want me the way I want him, and that fucking hurts worse than my head or my back.

“Jonas,” I whisper, looking him in the eyes. “I want —”

“Macy!” yells Dr. Shinn, breaking the moment. “You forgot your scripts.”

Closing my eyes and turning my head, I’ve had it. I have fucking had it! Working up the courage to tell Jonas I still wanted him even if he didn’t want me was so damn hard, then just like that, I’m cut off. Wanting to scream at Dr. Shinn for this interruption is on my tongue, but as usual, Jonas surprises me. Grabbing the slip of paper out of his hand, he gets right in Chris’ face.

“You’re off duty, Doc,” he growls. “Now fuck off.” Not knowing what else to do, Chris looks at Jonas, but settles on me.

“Remember what I said.” Then he walks away.

“Princess,” he says, after buckling his own belt. “Look at me.” So I do. “What were you going to say?”

Thinking on my bare feet I mutter, “Thank you,” losing my nerve. “I wanted to say thank you.”

“For coming for you?” he asks, with his eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” I say, looking out the window. “And for staying with me.”

“We were wrong,” he blurts out, and I turn to look at him. “Venessa and me, we were wrong. You’re strong, maybe even too strong for me, and one way or another I’m gonna make you need me back, Princess.”

When I’m mute, he keeps going while we drive back “Never met anyone like you,” he starts. “You’re so fucking smart, polite, and beautiful, it fucks with a man’s head. Fucks with my head. I have shit to offer you and no matter what I say, I hurt you. I hurt you so much I made you run away from me; that’s on me. Tell me what the fuck I can do to make you run
to me.
” Still unable to comprehend what’s happening he continues on, “I don’t expect you to trust me easily, but when Rogan asked me to follow you, it’s what I wanted to do, Princess. The second I saw you I’d have done anything to be close to you. If you wanna be pissed at someone, be pissed at me. They told me to leave you alone; I didn’t listen, I couldn’t listen. What we signed up for is dangerous; I can’t fucking stomach thinking of you hurt. Tell me you get that.”

“But in your room —” I whisper.

“About that,” he starts, clearly uncomfortable. ”I owe you an explanation. I’m not ready to give it you yet, but I will.”

“Okay,” I mumble, confused.

“Princess,” he says looking at me. “I will, I promise. When the time is right.”

Nodding my head, I turn back to the window and will the ride to end.

I
ran out of things to say. She doesn’t believe I want her; I can feel it. I just don’t know what the fuck to do about it. Pulling up to my house I walk over, opening her door like I always do, reach in pulling her into my arms, and lift.

She feels so fucking good, I don’t want to set her down; however, I have to if I want to get the door open. She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. Instead, I grab two pillows and a blanket, motioning for her to lie down. Reaching in my pocket, I remembered I have the scripts from the good doctor, so sitting down next to her, I attempt to strike up a conversation.

“Are you in pain?” I ask, tucking the blankets around her.

“It’s not too bad,” she says, settling in. “I think I’ll just sleep it off.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, concerned. “I can go get these filled.”

“No,” she says. “I’m good, they gave me a dose of antibiotics before we left. I’m fine for a few hours. Sit with me?”

Sitting down, I bring her feet into my lap and rub to warm them up. “Sure you don’t need anything? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“Jonas,” she whispers. “What are we doing?”

“I’m rubbing your feet,” I tell her, dreading the questions. “Try to sleep.”

“Jonas,” she tries again. “You promised.”

“I promised when the time was right,” I say, getting irritated. “This ain’t the time.”

“I’m afraid there won’t ever be a time,” she whispers. “You want me to trust you and to need you, but you don’t trust or need me back. So I’ll ask again, what are we doing?”

“Dammit,” I growl. “I said not now, Macy, fuck.” Moving her feet off my lap I stomp into the kitchen like a stubborn kid. From the kitchen I hear her sniffle, and without a second thought I ram my fist into the plaster. Is it too much to ask that we just sit together? That she isn’t trying to drag my past up? I’m not fucking ready. This is the second goddamn time I lost her, and I’m not fucking handling it well. I just wanted to sit here, watch her sleep, eat, anything, I just wanted to be near her.

The couch creaks, letting me know she’s moving. With my head still hanging I use my ears, and that’s when I hear the steps creak. So she’s headed upstairs, then.

Following her up, I see her pulling the covers back from the futon, preparing herself to lay down there. Walking into the room, I pull the covers back, telling her to take my bedroom. I even go so far as to tell her she can have it, and that I will sleep on the couch. Her eyes get red but she just nods, leaving the room.

Again, I fucked it up. She thinks I don’t want to share a bed with her; well, she’d be wrong. There’s no place else I’d rather be, but I know don’t fucking deserve to be there. Even trying to do the right thing goes wrong for me.

T
his last week has been shit. Not so much because of what went down with Briggs, but the way I’m being “handled,” like I’m going to snap or start kicking puppies for sport. Venessa and Jonas both are driving me nuts; the only saving grace I have is Rogan. I get it; I took someone’s life, I should probably feel something, but you know what? I don’t. My history with that dickbag isn’t something I like to talk about. What woman wants to share that nightmare? The fact is, he did start off decent and over time it went to hell, and I was just too caught up in my own life to see it. The first time he hit me, he was as shocked as I was and he went nuts when he realized what he’d done.

At that point, I wasn’t afraid of him yet, but I was cautious. Slowly, so fucking slowly, his anger bled into other areas of my life, but again, I was focused on other things. He didn’t trust that I was studying at the library or at the lab with Ben. He would show up to the hospital just to see me, he claimed, but I knew it was to make sure I was on shift. On the weekend nights he worked, I would take a break sometimes and visit Venessa at Lush.

Months ago, while laughing and moshing with Venessa, he just showed up. He came in pissed the fuck off and I couldn’t figure out why. After fighting in the hall outside the restrooms, Max ordered him to leave, and now that he’d killed my night, I left shortly after. Figuring he went back to work I took a bath, turned on my music, and went to start my laundry, since I was up. When I heard my music cut off I went out to investigate and there he was, chest heaving, fists clenched, eerily still, and I knew right then I was in serious trouble. But like most people, I didn’t know the severity of his anger until it was too late.

He attacked me at every angle. Sides, back, stomach, thighs, and he even made it a point to punch me several times in the ass. I’ll give it to him, though, he never hit my face. Finally he ran out of steam, or so I thought. Again, I was wrong.

Once he relieved the rage in his system, his dick decided to join the party. My cunt, as
he
liked to call it, wasn’t interested. In fact, it was terrified. As he held me down and forced his way in, he seriously hurt me. He punished me over and over again, pulled my hair, smacked my face, called me names, apologized, cried, and then would fuck at me even harder. When he finished with me, he wouldn’t let go, and I didn’t have the strength to move. My boyfriend had just beat me and raped me in my own home, and I didn’t know why. I had to ask myself how it was even possible to have your partner rape you, but he had, and I had a hard time coming to terms with that. It wasn’t just the act itself, it was that it fucking
happened to me.